I grew up in a trailer in the woods. It was not a luxurious double-wide but we did have an addition built on to it so there was an extra room. We grew meat birds and to keep the baby chicks warm in the spring we would keep them in the house under a heat lamp. I preferred them living in my bedroom so I would fall asleep every night to chirping of birds and the smell of tiny poos.
I’ve wanted to make this video my whole life. Like it? Share it!
I just made this video about…well watch it below. And I believed what I said theoretically (that sometimes No means Yes) but then I got handed a shit pile of my own medicine. I was fired. From my dream job. From what I think I’m the best in the world at. Oh man you should have heard me wail, like a dying blubbering dog. I’d just finished a show and my husband and best friend were with me in the dressing room when I got the news and I howled. The technicians couldn’t make eye contact with me. I was gonzo. How is this possible? This is what I thought I was supposed to be doing. My gift to the world. Having live meaningful, deep conversations every single night. It lit me up. How could that possibly be taken from me? They said it was budgetary but I knew it was more than that. I said vagina too much on air. I was controversial. I had a 65-year-old woman on who said pussy six times in a row and I “forgot” to tell my board op to bleep it. I had an incredibly complex conversation about rape. All good stuff. All important conversations. But I was becoming a liability. So it was incredibly ironic to me that a few days before I had made this video called No means Yes and now I was eating my words. It’s been a week. I’ve calmed down. I might still work there once a week. I see possibility. I was doing a job that 4 people should have been doing for the cost of 1/2 a person. Now I have time to pitch things to big places. I get to consider other creative options that I’ve been pushing away due to not enough time.…
It didn’t start off as my dream job. It started off as a low paying trial run to see if people liked what I did. So first off, thank you. I’d freelanced in radio on CBC for a decade but I’d never hosted and produced my very own show so it was a big leap and I was so terrified I got physically sick. I couldn’t sleep. I remember my husband driving me to my first day and I stopped being able to see. I started crying “I can’t see straight, how can I read the computer?” I contemplated asking him to take me to the emergency room, as an excuse to not show up. That’s how scared I was. So I decided to start at the simplest place. I would ask my radio hero Bill Richardson to teach me how to be a radio host- live. I didn’t have to pretend I didn’t know what I was doing. I could cop to it (which is also owning it) which is a far less terrifying place to be. “Good evening, I’m Emelia Symington Fedy and I have no idea what I’m doing here so I’ve brought on my radio guru to show me how to do my job…right now. So cuddle up and listen in to Bill Richardson on the very first ever Trying to be Good radio show…“ And it went well. And my nervousness and complete candour was probably a little endearing. So then I thought “To be useful to others, I can only ask questions about what most fascinates and drives me.” My mother had died just a few years earlier and she was always on my mind. Her best friend had also recently died and so I contacted her son. I used to be his camp counsellor and…
One of my most favourite things to talk about is the “optics of success” and how we tend to see, and be shown only certain parts of people. We see their successes and impresses, less so their distress (alliteration baby). And this little “know-it-all”‘ thought she had it down pretty good…being fully herself publically- until it hit me. I’m still playing the mutha effin’ game, just in a more sneaky way. I’m showing you my badassery, but it’s still only an “optic” of myself. So I’m gonna try, to really try this year to remove all filters. Less edits. Less worry. Less questions. Less trying to be fascinating. Less trying to reach more people. Less trying to succeed. Less planning and scheming. Less trying to be good (although that’s an ironic title) I still try so fucking hard. I do this I suppose, because, like yoga teachers hate their bodies and therapists are all crazy, I’m fascinated with the “mask” we wear to be loved. And I think my job is to take mine off, which will hopefully interest you in taking yours off and then our ugly mugs can just get down in it together. Who’s in? Like it? Share it!
8 min. I can’t help but get all emotional. Also don’t “massage your feet.” That’s the lamest advice I’ve ever given. Notes on the video above: 1. Stop. Be kind to the depression. He’s talking to you. I lie down every day with my hand on my heart. or stone on my chest and breathe and let it in. Like a little kitten, stroking it. This is a disease. You are in dis-ease. From the world. You are not living a natural state, you are bombarded. So, gentle, gentle, soft, soft. 2. Protect. Try and connect but if you need to be at home, under blankets for 3 hours rather than that potluck. Give yourself permission. You are teaching yourself to trust that you have your back and you are hearing what sick little kitten is saying…(I can’t delete that terrible analogy as I’m a one-take kinda woman) 3. Boundaries. No. Sorry. Can’t. Too much. Oprah calls it “Radical Self Care.” I don’t work weekends. I’m done by 430 every day. I know this. No pushing through. That burns out your adrenals even more. 4. Offering. This is hardest for me. An offering to yourself or the world. Start with “I will put stretchy pants on and lie on the floor with some nice music playing for 15 min.” That’s it. Maybe one day you’ll find yourself doing yoga. Who knows? Go outside and walk 2 blocks. I did this the other day and helped an old lady walk in the snow and felt really good about myself…This is a slow fortitude building exercise. Allow yourself to be soft, but not crumple. One tiny thing a day to build strength. I know the idea makes you puke in your mouth a bit…but it is a tiny effort in discipline. 5. It’s comfy being depressed.…
This question a woman sent me brought me out of “Advice Column” retirement it’s so easy to answer, and deeply relatable. Under 4 min. Filmed while breastfeeding… …and when I google imaged “I hate Christmas” for an image to include in this post, a picture I TOOK OF MY SON was the first to show up. So…let’s just say we can relate… …and if that advice didn’t do it for you. Here’s a more personal account about the pain of Christmas I wrote last year called “For All The Depressed MotherF*ckers At Christmas.” You are not alone. Like it? Share it!
I feel a lot all the time but mostly I feel vulnerable and soft and these are not comfortable feelings for me to share publically. I can feel anger, righteous indignation, power, fear: but feeling vulnerable and crying (in front of people)…that’s my edge. And I’m all about walking the tightrope so the series about feelings begins here, on the day of my sons 2nd birthday. Love Emelia Like it? Share it!
Put the oxygen mask on yourself before you put it on your kids. Oprah calls it ‘radical self care.” It’s not about “treating yo’self.” It’s about survival. …and if you’re in need of some inspiration. This is what ME TIME could look like. Like it? Share it!
This is my first of a series of live conversations with you about what matters most to me. Like it? Share it!