The relief and shame of 'letting go'
Turning around on offering and telling myself the truth
Welcome. I’m Sarina, Mother, artist and writer.
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It’s a beautiful thing to launch something into the world that feels so aligned with your mission and to wake up to Stripe notifications that people are signing up.
I was riding high on dopamine even in the build-up to launching Shameless Artists Club.
It felt wonderful to have a post scheduled for Thursday evening last week, while I’d be sitting in circle with women, around the fire.
As I shared my vision with the other women, my dear friends, there was so much support and excitement, some of them wanted to sign up and the idea of having friends in the Club was filling me with joy.
Launching when I need to land
Then on Sunday, my little family and I went to a kid’s birthday party at 10am, followed by a farewell party, followed by a gathering at a drum circle.
I was mid cycle and at my most extroverted (for an introverted Projector who literally has ‘hermit’ in her Human Design), but right before we went to the drum circle, my 3.5 year old was pleading to go to the playground to practice her swinging ‘on her own’.
I was already bone tired from so much stimulation and small talk but it was a relief to say yes to the swings so I could remove myself from the farewell party.
As I stared blankly at the Moreton Bay figs lining the playground, missing Gia’s cues for ‘Mum, give me a push, make me higher then I can do it!’ - it hit me - this is launch time, I should be gung-ho like I was yesterday and the day before, but it feels like the whole world is winding down and my body is asking for this too.
‘What does it feel like to let go?’
‘What does it feel like to let go?’ - is a question I’ve asked myself at crucial points in my life.
About 7 years ago, I asked this to myself about a yogic lifestyle online magazine I’d created that was full of beautiful intention, had brought life-long connections and had stretched me far beyond capacity while I was the editor, picture editor, art director, writer, publisher and PR agent for it, all while working as a makeup artist and on set sometimes for 16 hours each shoot.
I lay in bed one night while visiting my hometown of London, and dared to ask myself what it felt like to let go of this thing I’d been working on for a couple of years, that was barely making money and I could barely keep up with any kind of content schedule.
I’d only gone so far down the track because of the emails I would get in response to each post about how my words had deeply touched people. But simply inspiring people just wasn’t sustainable.
I asked this question too with a podcast I’d created while pregnant called Realise Your Worth (which I haven’t deleted, because there’s no hosting fee on Spotify and who knows, someone might chance upon it and get something from it).
It was a triumph over perfectionism as I recorded from my bed, my laptop and microphone balanced on a stack of books before my blossoming belly.
The podcast was much more fruitful, indirectly, as it brought in many coaching clients.
But after recording one episode after birth, there was no space to record for the foreseeable future, not just attending to my baby, but I had a low sleep needs child, which meant, yep, I had about four hours of broken sleep each night. My nervous system was a mess, my anxiety was debilitating.
My feelings about turning around on these two projects was mixed - relief and shame. The relief of no longer having the pressure to ‘keep up’ and the shame of not making it work because my capacity was too small.
“Other people could make it work.”
“You’re going to look like a failure.”
“Just get a better business coach.”
-I was highjacked by voices shaming me for saying ‘No, I can’t do this anymore.’
(I’m pretty sure I can credit yoga and meditation for saving me from these voices).
The relief of no longer having the pressure to ‘keep up’ and the shame of not making it work because my capacity was too small.
You can stop pushing now
As Gia continued to work at leaning back, legs outstretched, then leaning forward, legs tucked, sometimes losing her timing then picking it up again with the delight of re-finding the rhythm, I asked myself ‘What does it feel like to let it go?’
Something suddenly evaporated from my chest.
I hadn’t even noticed it weighing on me. But now I felt lighter.
I once heard Peta Kelly say after turning around immediately after a launch, ‘Sometimes you just don’t know until you hit go.’ I didn’t get it then. I get it now.
My body tingled as I was brought back to this moment, my big-little girl really going for it, telling me ‘Mum, you can stop pushing now’, leaving me with the stillness of my own arms, suspended in space, awkward with their redundancy.
You can stop pushing now.
There’s no arguing with the body
I’d allowed a four-week launch time, but after just three days it was dawning on me how a beautiful, value-aligned vision can actually be at odds with my nervous system capacity.
I was imagining, if 2025 goes anything like 2024, family sicknesses, huge relationship hurdles, travel overseas - nothing out of the ordinary of course, nonetheless requiring my primary attention, would I feel stretched beyond my capacity while committed to holding people each of the 52 weeks?
Sure, other people do it. Other people do far more than this. But I am not other people and after 44 years of this body talking to me with its subtle sensations, I finally hear its language.
I have this one precious life by virtue of this one precious body and I can’t argue with its intelligence, when its purpose is to keep me alive and well so I can actually thrive.
‘You get to do this without shame’
Yesterday morning, lying next to Gia’s sprawled body, the liminal space between sleeping and waking whispered, ‘You get to refund people and you get to do this without shame.’
The relief in my body after signing off from launch mode at the one time of year where my partner is able to be fully present, was unmistakeable.
But saying, ‘No, I can’t do it’; I can’t pretend there’s not a residue of shame.
Writing about it, in itself, is dismantling shame (hallelujah for writing and transmuting gunk).
But what of my vision to create a space for us to be truer and braver, to be shameless in our expression?
My body, my nervous system actually wants this.
It’s clear now that the resistance was to the form I’d created for the vision.
The form of a space where I commit to ‘showing up’ each week when I might need to just be a sofa for my child’s recovering body, caress her head, sing to her and and not be on my phone.
I wondered, could I pay someone to take over for me if this was the case?
No, it wasn’t viable.
Shameless Artists Club was not designed as a big money spinner. At just AU$99 for the year, accessibility was key. Most artists don’t make a lot of money and this was for them. It was designed to harness the wealth of community, where we witness and support each other in the turbulence, the bravery and the victories. A place to build resilience and strengthen our spirit, alongside each other.
Holding the vision, letting go of the form
In the past two days, I’ve ‘spoken’ with the vision I had while letting go of the form.
Shameless Artists Club had such integrity in its intention, and, it gets to take a different form, without the name, without the exclusivity or pressure.
A simpler way, free to all subscribers. Welcoming of slower seasons, high energy seasons and ‘No, I can’t do this right now’ seasons.
Where the grace of not-right-now can extend to me and my family too (essential and yet, I’d overlooked this).
It will still be hosted in the Substack Chat (in the App), it will still have weekly prompts, mini-challenges and connection points, but casual drop-in style, you know, when it feels energising and inspiring for you to be there.
It doesn’t have a name, maybe it doesn’t need one.
What’s clear is, 2025 is the year of dismantling shame as artists, as well as humans expressing ourselves in all ways, where our natural design and natural pace is embraced, not treated like it’s something we need to heal or overcome or push past.
Can you feel the big fat relief?
I can. X
I love how you’ve framed the need to hold onto your vision while releasing any structure that doesn’t serve your well-being. Too often, we feel shame in admitting, “I can’t do this, at least not right now,” as though stepping back was a failure rather than an act of honouring our true limits. Yet what you’ve shared here is a beautiful reminder that our bodies and hearts know when to stop pushing. The core of your piece resonates deeply. We can still nurture the spark and keep a gentle container for our creativity without boxing ourselves into something rigid. Your decision to transform the “Club” into a more flexible, drop-in space is such a graceful pivot. It shows that passion and purpose can thrive within softer boundaries, where we care for ourselves as much as we care for the people we want to serve. It’s a testament to the power of listening to our own wisdom and dismantling shame in the process.
beautiful post!