After I laughed at that bad review...
I stopped thinking about it for the night. In the morning, I got up and reread it. That's when I realized:
It was actually WORSE than I first understood.
Like, so bad that I think the 3 stars were a courtesy from the company because I paid for it.
And you know, I laughed again.
Honestly, I wouldn't mind if someone had a harsh critique about my writing style, for example. Still Moving is a very lyrical book, and excessive metaphors aren't for everyone.
But that's not what this review is. And because it's not, this review has actually proved a really important point in my book.
If you've read it, you know that I make a very particular request on page 99. This request is so important that it has a footnote.
They're both in the afterwords, when I'm summarizing what I hope is clear from the book, that disbelief is a gigantic barrier to healing and connection.
The gist:
"Honor people's experiences. ... When people tell you about themselves, believe them. ... Especially if it's beyond your perspective."
And now, years later, a reviewer has read the whole story, and she doesn't believe me.
She doesn't believe me, and in a pretty condescending way. It stings.
And while I respect that her perspective is true and valid for her, that doesn't mean I take it seriously. I can respect her opinion without giving it significance to me. I can laugh AND it can sting, all at once.
But let's get a bit more serious. Worst case, if I'd gotten feedback like this earlier in my writing process, when I was deep in editing, I probably would have quit. Never published the book. That's a bummer perhaps, at least personally. But not the hugest deal.
Whereas disbelief, for many people with chronic illness, drives them towards self-harm, ideation, and worse.
If you've read Still Moving, then you already know.
I wrote a response:
The point is that this review proves my plea. It validates the importance of what I'm asking.
If you're curious, read it. The link is on the reviews page of my site.
I'm not sharing directly in this love note, because the review is very triggering. (My partner hasn't read it and doesn't intend to.)
This is not about somehow sparing my feelings. I know who I am and what I wrote.
Or if you on't believe me that disbelief is common—(Is that too meta?)—I encourage you to read it.
If you have trauma from people denying or invalidating your experiences, I don't recommend reading. The review definitely reads like all the doctors, teachers, and family members who've been aggressively skeptical of my illness, all my life.
If you've had the good fortune and privilege not to have momentous life experiences invalidated or denied, the review could be a useful read. This is how disbelieving and condescending people can be—they can know vivid, graphic details, and somehow still conclude that a person doesn't know her own lived experience.
So, to repeat my own book – please go out into the world with kindness, with a willingness to believe people, even if—especially if—it's something you'll never experience.
It's one of the most loving things you can do.
With love,
S.
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