The life-changing magic of the seven deadly sins

Let's try it!

Updates:

One: I’ve changed the name of this publication from Everything Is Compostable to Shit I’m Not Supposed to Say (SINS, for short).

Why?

Because the original title led most people to believe I was talking about food waste.

Whereas the new one turns to face my own worst fear: that someone will bash me for being honest. That could still happen. And I feel calmer when I step right up and acknowledge it.

Two: I’m starting a new thing called a thread. It’s for paying subscribers only. In the thread, you can share shit you’re not supposed to say, do, think, feel. If you want to.

Find a link to this week’s thread at the end of the post.

Comments? Questions? Suggestions? Hit reply and share! I’d love to know your thoughts.

And now, on to our regularly scheduled program…

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11 January 2024.

For years, I thought I was behaving myself in my marriage—obliging my husband—because I feared losing him.

In just seven weeks, we’ll separate. For a year. What I’ve feared would happen is happening. And I accept it. Yet I’m still scared of not obliging him. Still bracing against the anger I expect to incite. Even though I’m wrong, maybe half the time, about what will incite it.

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Yesterday I retrieved from the library, and began to read,

Elise Loehnen

’s new book, On Our Best Behavior: The Seven Deadly Sins and the Price Women Pay to Be Good.

Loehnen shows how, for centuries, the patriarchy has been using women’s fear of the seven deadly sins—sloth, envy, pride, gluttony, greed, lust, and anger—to keep us down.

If this is true, then the opposite must also be true: when we embrace these sins, we lift ourselves up.

Let’s extrapolate: since trying to avoid Geranium’s anger has improved neither my marriage nor my life—why not do the opposite there as well? Why not deliberately choose actions I suspect will make him angry? Not because I want to anger him, but because I can’t necessarily predict how his anger will roll anyway, and I’m done using my fear of his anger as an excuse to hold back.

Let’s look at a couple examples.

Example number one:

On New Year’s Eve—as I recounted in a previous entry—Geranium revealed that, eight years earlier, he’d chosen to withhold from me a check from his father for $5,000. I assumed the window for cashing it had closed. Then a friend told me about a $5,000 life insurance policy that had remained good, even after she’d unwittingly trashed multiple notices about it. She urged me to investigate my assumption about the check.

I found the check and checked it. It did not say it expired after x number of months or days. I realized I could scan the check, send the image to Geranium’s father, and ask if it was still valid.

As soon as I conceived this idea, my brain bared its fangs: “Gold digger! Ungrateful bitch! Your father-in-law funded half your house purchase and its entire renovation! You should be grateful for what you have!”

In other words, my brain was accusing me of the fifth deadly sin—greed.

When we fear being greedy, Loehnen says, we deny ourselves security.

I would love to receive $5,000 right now. No, I don’t need it. But would it dramatically ease my transition to Earthaven? Would it bolster my sense of financial wellbeing? Yes, and yes.

I know I’m not supposed to bring this check back from the grave. And, to be clear, I’m not reviving it because I expect his dad to say, “Go ahead and cash it.” Or because I think he owes me this money. I don’t. I’m reviving it because I want to start training myself to believe that it’s okay to inquire after what I want, instead of assuming I can’t have it.

Especially when I’m not supposed to.

Example number two:

In mid-December, Geranium started reading this Substack, and leaving vitriolic comments. He told me repeatedly that I was angering his family—destroying their interest in relating to me—by telling my truth here.

I found myself hesitating to post additional commentary on my marriage—and bracing for more vitriol, in person and online.

I conceived the idea of removing him from my list.

If I did this, why would I be doing it?

Because I wouldn’t let anyone else attack me the way he has.

Because I’d like to take a load off my nervous system, as I continue to explore, and compost, my thoughts, feelings, actions, and reactions.

Because he’s not delighting in his experience of subscribing—and I don’t want subscribers who aren’t delighted.

If I let him stay, why would I be making that choice?

Because I fear his anger.

Do I like that reason?

No.

Which deadly sin might I file his removal under?

Anger, perhaps—anger of my own. The kind of anger that incites me to breathe fire. Set boundaries. Hold them. Protect, dragon-style, this room of my own.

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