Sharing vulnerability, reclaiming pain, as a community
The lessons learned from the Taylor Swift phenomenon
Katy Linwood is a monthly columnist for ConvergenceRI, writing "The Bright Side" about sobriety.
In June of 1979, working as a volunteer for the local branch of the Abalone Alliance in San Luis Obispo, Calif., I worked closely with Campbell to coordinate the TV, radio and newspaper advertising for a major “No Nukes” rally at which then Gov. Jerry Brown declared, “No to Diablo,” publicly voicing his opposition to the nuclear power plant for the first time.
Two days before the rally, Campbell had reached out to me to see if I could help arrange an opportunity for Gov. Brown to speak at the rally, which led to some very convoluted negotiations with the local leaders through the consensus decision-making process to allow him to speak, captured on film by Chris Beaver and Judy Irving, who directed and produced the film “Dark Circle.” It was followed by a news conference featuring Gov. Brown, Jackson Browne, and Bonnie Raitt.
Whether rock ‘n’ roll can save the world and change the political landscape is still a worthy debate topic. But it did help the nation to pivot away from nuclear power and move toward a more sensible, economic energy future. But no one should underestimate the power of young women finding the confidence to sing along to the lyrics of Taylor Swift and express their vulnerability as a life-changing force in 2024.
PROVIDENCE – Something curious happened during the pandemic and its aftermath. It seems that somewhere along with losing so much – loved ones, employment, our own health, sense of safety, future plans and illusions – we collectively also started to lose patience with curation.
There was so much loss in those years. Stripped of the routines and distractions, countless people faced a present that was bleak and foreign. The public façade of hustle culture gave way to private distress.
Airbrushed perfection never felt super relatable, and that’s always been the point. If consumers continue to chase the dream through purchasing products, capitalistic society can hum along merrily. But during and after the pandemic, airbrushed perfection wasn’t relatable at all – in fact, it felt odd and disconnected from reality. This created space for authenticity and vulnerability in a way I haven’t observed before.
And much as I perhaps wouldn’t like to add one more offering to the Taylor Swift altar, I have to give her credit for introducing public vulnerability to so many people – particularly young women.[Celebrities are never above criticism, and I want to be upfront that I’m disappointed with her lack of bravery around environmental and political issues. To me, with a massive platform and privilege comes a massive obligation to give back. I’m entitled to my opinion; you’re entitled to your own. But I digress.]
Shake it off.
Her songwriting often tells of sorrow, loss, feeling awkward, not being chosen, and not fitting in. She isn’t a sex symbol, and she hasn’t risen to fame through fitting into the conventional mold of a pop star. There’s something raw about her music that taps into the sensitive places we all understand. She makes the deeply personal emotions and experiences something universal that her audience can share together. Private pain has become public art. Her enormous wealth speaks to the emotional content of which she sings.
It’s been her authentic voice that’s made her stand out and connect with millions across the planet. Her concerts show what a community has been built around vulnerability. Her devoted fans show how empowering it is to reclaim pain, the uncomfortable experiences. I love seeing girls and women sing along to her themes of moving on after heartbreak, gender inequality, double standards, rejecting mistreatment, etc. – all while celebrating friendship, individuality, courage, and determination. She has normalized being authentically human.
This, of course, makes me think about others who aren’t blonde white women. The systems that we all operate within, that give someone like me or Taylor the benefit of the doubt while causing real harm to those who aren't.
The politics of joy
Which, perhaps a little tangentially, leads me to Kamala Harris and the Walz family. Her campaign has such an undeniable edge of fun and joy to it – one that has owned social media through its use of trending sounds, irreverent humor and up-to-the-minute references.
The Vice President often bursts into laughter and doesn’t shy away from emotions. It’s undeniable that comes across as human and the polls reflect how so many are responding to that.
Gus Walz’s reaction to seeing his father onstage at the Democratic National Convention moved me [and so many others] to tears. His sister and mother didn’t try to interrupt his moment. That’s real, raw, unfiltered emotion, and a cursory search will show you how fiercely beloved he is. It shows me, once again, that we respond to authentic emotion and vulnerability. Expressing yourself and showing up as you are taps into the human spirit.
It will help you find the people who really are right for you. [If there are no haters of Gus Walz trolls, then I’m surprised. The character of someone who would take shots at someone with nonverbal learning disorder is appalling. These hands are rated E for everyone – I’m looking at you, Ann Coulter.]
I don’t have a massive platform, but I do have privilege here and now. That’s why speaking up about sobriety and mental health is so precious to me. There are people who understand what I mean when I say that I would wake from a night out full of regret and shame, wondering what was wrong with me that I couldn’t stick to my just-two-drinks-tonight-please pep talk I had in the mirror before leaving.
There are people who don’t understand why their brain responds so viciously to alcohol. There are people who don’t feel at home in their own skin because they get stuck in cyclical thought patterns, who over-think to the point of exhaustion. And those are my people.
Join me
Because even though I can’t tell them why, I can tell them that I understand. I can share my story and experiences to help people know they really aren’t alone. We all go through it, so I figure: why not step into community about it. My vulnerability reclaims pain and makes something beautiful of it. Join me?
