Unlearning the Shame of Big Splashy Announcements (plus: a big splashy announcement!)

Cocoons Not Clam Shells: The Divergent Design Book Project || Some Personal Updates || Some New Course Offerings

Spring has sprung in Philly: nature isn’t afraid of big splashy announcements!

Unlearning the Shame of Big Splashy Announcements

When I look back over my now almost 40 years of being a supposedly grown-ass adult, perhaps what stirs the most shame is what I call “the big splashy announcements.”

You may be familiar this sort of announcement, made to a friend, or better yet a group of friends, or even better yet, across all social media platforms:

“I’m writing a novel!” you tell everyone before you even commit a single word to the page.

“I’m starting a new business!” you announce confidently, when literally all you have is an unpublished website you’ve spent far too long polishing.

“I’m changing career paths and going back to school!” you declare confidently when in fact, no career—despite decades of school and credentials—has ever stuck.

Over the past decade or so, I have come to understand the nature of design thinking, which is iterative and by definition involves lots of stops and starts as an integral part of any sort of creative endeavor. I have also come to understand that rather than viewing time as a straight line, with the past and all its abandoned projects and failures falling off into a meaningless void behind me, I can instead view time as the concentric rings of a tree, growing outward, with everything I have ever done—successful or failed, completed or abandoned—still within me, part of the core of me, forming the structure that holds up everything in my life, now and as I continue to grow outward.

With age and perspective, I know that there are threads I can pull through my zig-zagging life of starts and stops, threads that give it coherence and meaning, and that even the failures and abandoned projects continue to provide fruitful soil and buried treasure for my new visions.

In short, I have made my peace with the projects I announced with such splashy enthusiasm, including the ones (likely the majority) that never saw the light of day. Even so, there is a lesson I have learned and deeply internalized, which I am coming to realize is entirely born of shame, and that is this:

Don’t make big splashy announcements. Keep new projects a secret until you are sure you have committed. Don’t dare to show off your process, which includes wild, unfettered enthusiasm, for fear of having to once again face the shame of not following through.

I have actually recently felt proud of this new-found reticence, of my inclination to secrecy, of the self-control required to resist sharing the bubbly, uninhibited excitement I feel at the beginning of any new project. I think that pride in those new capacities—reticence, secrecy, self-control—is born of their association with being an adult. Of being serious, mature, professional. Childlike wonder and unabashed enthusiasm are, well, a bit cringe in one’s 60th year on earth, right?

But the truth is, I love that part of myself! And I miss her! Why am I still tamping down this excitement and enthusiasm that comes over me when a vision lands in my mind fully formed, but before I’ve really worked out how to realize it, or even if it’s possible to realize it? That enthusiasm and excitement is a huge part of who I am, and of my creative process.

I am such an introverted, delicate flower of a hermit, it’s easy for me to forget that one of the main motivations in my creative life is being able to share it with others in real time. It’s nearly impossible for me to sustain enthusiasm for a project if I have to keep it hidden away until I can be sure it’s really going to stick.

Nowhere is this more true than in the multiple book ideas I have inside me, itching to get out. My ideas have been cited in so many other people’s books, and yet my own book ideas continue to flounder in multiple folders and documents full of notes, outlines, half-hearted attempts at book proposals. I have possibly no creative ambition greater in my life than to hold in my hand a book I wrote myself. There are so many reasons I have not yet achieved that ambition, but among them is that writing a whole book in isolation is lonely and linear and just not how I’m likely to finish something. For me, the only way to see a project like that through is to do it collaboratively, in real time. This feels very neuroqueer to me, but probably not the path to a traditional publishing deal.

Which brings me to some shamelessly enthusiastic big splashy announcements:

I am writing a book, and plan to publish draft sections of it here on The Spiral Lab. Simultaneously, in collaboration with Joel and several other friends, we are beginning the groundwork to launch a press to publish my book—and eventually, we hope, lots of other books as well!

Did I really just type that? Yikes!

Big splashy announcements are still scary, but I’ve been holding onto this one long enough to know that my enthusiasm for this project, at least, is not fleeting.

This is the Divergent Design book project:

Cocoons, Not Clam Shells: The Divergent Design Book Project

When I decided in earnest to start writing a book about Divergent Design—a manifesto/self-help/how-to book about interior design by and for neurodivergent people—I naturally searched around for what already exists on the topic. I am not finished with this research¹, but so far I have been both shocked and dismayed by what I have—and have not—found. There are quite a few articles in magazines and on blogs, mostly from neurotypical interior designers who are no doubt well-meaning, but also clearly jumping on the neurodiversity bandwagon. There are a few chapters in books by neurodivergent people which emphasize the importance of designing homes that work for us, but astonishingly there is almost no one they cite outside of my own work on Instagram.

I did find one book, however, and shelled out real money to buy a copy since my library doesn’t have it in its holdings. I’m glad I will be able to write it off as a business expense, because I literally haven’t made it past the first page without wanting to throw it across the room in rage (the fact that the print is impossibly small and basically inaccessible to anyone, like me, with bad eyesight doesn’t help). This book is Designing for Autism Spectrum Disorders², and in just one page it has highlighted for me how much a book about neurodivergent interior design is needed.

Written by four women, none of whom identify themselves as neurodivergent, the book betrays its real concern, which is not neurodivergent people ourselves, but rather the behavior of neurodivergent people, and presumably the effect it has on neurotypical people: “When an individual is unable to understand or adapt to their environment, negative behaviors typically ensue. Although the surrounding environment has such a strong influence over people with ASD, there is very little information on how to design spaces for these individuals.”

…these individuals….

Noting that there are a wide variety of experiences of autism, the authors go on to suggest that “Ideally, spaces would be designed for each individual case and the space would accommodate each unique symptom but also help individuals with ASD build a tolerance to environmental stimuli. McCallister states that environments for individuals on the spectrum should prepare them for the challenges and problems they will face in everyday life: ‘Cocooning the ASD pupil from all external factors will not necessarily help them reach their full potential in life.’ Therefore,” the authors conclude, “designers should not overly cater to users with ASD and create unrealistic environments that will leave them unprepared to face other environments” (emphasis added). This is page one.

There is a pervasive belief in our society today that a little bit of trauma early in life from loved ones and trusted caregivers will somehow inoculate children from the traumas of the structural violence they will inevitably face as adults. We don’t come right out and say that a little trauma is good, but that’s essentially what we mean, isn’t it, when we say that the sensitive little boy needs to toughen up or he’ll forever be the target of bullies? That the shy introverted child needs to be forced to look adults in the eye or they will be perceived as rude? That we can’t allow the weird little girl to wear her hoodie in class because how will that look once she’s out in the “real world” of work?

The theory, I think, is that a little irritant—a grain of sand in the clam shell—will eventually produce a pearl. The alternative—catering to a neurodivergent person’s sensitivities through the unrealistic environment of the cocoon—will never yield a pearl!

But a clam is a living creature, and a pearl is not. A pearl is something created from the irritation and suffering of the clam; a pearl is an inert object we have decided is precious, and we therefore extract it for our pleasure. It’s not really about the clam at all. A cocoon, on the other hand, is hardly an unrealistic environment for the larva that spins the cocoon around itself, not because it is irritated, but because this space is a natural part of its life-cycle; indeed the cocoon is the precisely and perfectly designed environment in which the larva transforms itself and from which a beautiful creature emerges. A living creature is born of the cocoon—not inert, like a pearl, but nonetheless precious.

The creatures we are meant to become through the trauma-as-innoculation theory of behavior modification and “real world” preparation are not, in the words of Dr. Devon Price, our authentic Selves, “unmasked for life.” The notion that building a bit of irritation into our interior spaces will help us build tolerance to a world that was never designed for us is insulting. The only thing that sort of irritant builds is a mask of tolerance.

I won’t belabor the metaphor any further except to argue strenuously that we neurodivergent creatures need no irritants in our homes in order to “reach our full potential in life.” The world is irritating enough! I have been working on this Divergent Design project for years, but mostly in my mind. A search of my files has unearthed many notes, drafts, and even outlines for book proposals—and yet over the years I keep abandoning it with the feeling that it is unserious and unworthy of my time and effort. A silly—bougie, even—special interest that I just need to put aside for more important projects. But I keep circling back around to the fundamental relationship between our literal interior spaces—our homes—and our metaphorical interior spaces—our Selves, and in particular, our unmasked Selves. We deserve homes without irritants because it is not our job to create pearls for the extractive neurotypical world; we deserve cocoons that provide us the perfect environments in which we can transform and emerge as our own fully formed, beautiful creatures.

This is the Divergent Design project.

Here’s the plan. I’m going to publish one section of this book twice each month below the paywall. Above the paywall on each of those biweekly posts will be something substantive, like I usually post for free here on TSL, plus personal news and updates about my various course and workshop offerings.

If you would like to be interviewed for the Divergent Design book project, please fill out this form!

Everyone who sits for an interview will be given a free subscription to paid content. I will also make the Divergent Design project available for free to members of DDS, which you can join on a sliding fee scale of between $9 and $29 per month, and also enjoy multiple sessions of peer support each week, body doubling, a writing group, art-making spaces, art and literary salons, and more. If $9 a month is still beyond your means, email me at marta@martarose.com for further subsidized options.

Some Personal Updates from Chez Davis-Rose

We’re feeling the urge to hit the road soon, wherever it may wind.

As regular readers know, at the end of 2024 my partner Joel was laid off (with no severance) and two days later diagnosed with kidney cancer. Many of you very generously offered financial support through paying for a subscription to The Spiral Lab, joining DDS, and even sending us cold hard cash, for which we are eternally grateful! We are now literally living on our savings, which includes to a large degree your largesse. Joel had a part of a kidney removed at the end of January and is for the most part recovered from that surgery, though there were a bunch of unexpected complications that made his recovery difficult and painful. He is now awaiting the results of a biopsy of several potentially cancerous lesions on his prostate.

In short, it’s been a lot.

But we’re doing fine. Better than fine! Having been thrown off our game a bit, we have even more clarity about how we want to live our lives: fearlessly, full on, open-hearted, pursuing our dreams and visions.

Joel is 62 and has decided to take an early retirement, which means he is eligible for a small but not insubstantial monthly payment from Social Security. We are extremely fortunate to have family members who can help us with the cost of health insurance until we are eligible for Medicare (if it still exists by then….). I am going to continue to do my best to keep our ship afloat financially through subscriptions to TSL, memberships to DDS, and the courses I am offering with the support and collaboration of Meg, KR, and my friend Lisa from DDS.

Joel and I also paring back our expenses to the bare bones: taking cheap vacations, baking our own bread, figuring out how to feed ourselves on a shoestring, entertaining ourselves without most streaming services, making art out of junk, and repurposing old and thrifted clothing. If any of that is interesting to you, let me know and I’ll share more about it as a regular feature here on TSL!

Some New Course and Workshop Offerings

I am working to develop a core group of courses and workshops that I can offer regularly at accessible prices. I am hyper-aware of how financially precarious so many of our lives are right now, and it’s hardly the ideal time to try to make a freelance living with a target audience that is disabled and poor! But I also believe so strongly in what I have to offer, and its potential to make things a bit better, especially in these times, so I am working hard to figure out ways to make my offerings both super valuable and financially accessible.

I will be offering all of my workshops and courses through my friend and colleague KR’s new platform, KR Presents, which includes not only my offerings but a curated collection of courses offered by a variety of facilitators handpicked by KR Moorhead.

Please take a moment to register your interest in any or all of these courses and workshops, and we will be in touch with further information and reminders.

Shame, $20

Sunday May 18th, 12-2pm EDT

Spiral Time, $20

Sunday, May 25th, 12-2pm EDT

Book separately, or as a bundle for 10% off at $36.

Tickets on sale from 2 May; to get updates and reminders make sure you Register Your Interest.​

​Shame: Shame is a powerful political tool used in almost every area of our lives—our families, our schools, our workplaces, even our identities—to wrench us into conformity with the values of industrial-colonial time and compulsory executive functioning. In this workshop, we will look at the ways shame disables us for deviating from neurotypical expectations and norms, and the ways it creates dysfunction in our creative practices. Through creative care invitations, we will examine some of the ways shame shows up and explore how we can disrupt and even transform it, so that it becomes less and less debilitating.

Spiral Time: Neurodivergent people are often plagued by a sense that we have “wasted time” and “fallen behind” our peers in terms of productivity and creative accomplishment. If there is any hope for finding a more enjoyable and generative relationship with time, we need new metaphors that defy the contemporary Western ones that have colonized the world. We will explore alternative metaphors and values of slowness, cyclicality, ritual and rest. Through creative care invitations, we will explore the different shapes time might exist for us, and how we might inhabit time differently.

Write & Launch a Substack, $10

Sunday May 4th at 12:00—1:30 pm EDT

Tickets on sale from 18 April; to get updates and reminders make sure you Register Your Interest.​

​Have you considered writing and launching your own Substack, but aren't sure how to start? Do you struggle with confidence about the quality of your content or your ability to maintain consistency? In this session, Marta will share what she has learned in the process of writing and launching The Spiral Lab, particularly what has worked for her as a neurodivergent writer, and will discuss your specific questions, ideas, projects and struggles. Submit questions in advance or during the session. Can't attend live? The session will be recorded and shared with all ticketholders.

One Small Space, $100

Mondays June 23rd & 30th, July 14th & 21st, 1-3pm EDT

Sundays July 6th & 27th, 11-3pm EST

Tickets on sale from May 30th; to get updates and reminders make sure you Register Your Interest.​

​This course consists of four Monday sessions presented and facilitated by Marta and two longer body-doubling and support sessions on the Sundays.

Designing our homes to accommodate and celebrate our unmasked neurodivergent selves is life changing—but also incredibly daunting. We are often bogged down by shame, limited bandwidth, and financial constraints. It can also be so difficult to know where to get started, to come up with a design that really works, and then actually follow through. In this course, we will tackle so many of those issues by focusing on one small space. Not even, necessarily, a whole room. You might choose the desk where you work or make art, or the bed where you spend most of your days wishing you could do creative work if chronic illness didn’t sap your strength and spoons. You might choose one kitchen cabinet that would make food prep easier if you could just find what you need, or a closet that would make your clothes actually accessible to you. You will be urged—strongly—not to take on too much, so that you can identify some small subset of your needs and get really creative about designing a space you can sustainably maintain. We will examine the ways shame and the “shoulds” of convention interfere with how we imagine and design our spaces; we will share and workshop our design ideas; we will and we will spend long body doubling sessions actually working together on our spaces.

Neurodelicious

Coming summer/fall 2015, dates and prices TBD; to get updates and reminders make sure you Register Your Interest.​

​​Facilitated by Lisa S. and Marta Rose, Neurodelicious is a four-week course exploring various issues neurodivergent people face feeding ourselves, including:

• Tools to help you understand your sensory needs and resistances

• Adaptations of recipes, kitchen tools, and strategies to accommodate your needs

• Interior kitchen design to make food preparation and clean up manageable, while reducing food waste (and saving money!)

• Support in disrupting shame around food sensitivities and difficulties we face feeding ourselves and managing mess

This course is a weight, nutrition, and health-neutral space. Aspiring to healthier eating is a fine goal, but no one will be judged for their food choices. We will offer some recipes so we can share strategies for adapting them, but this isn't a cooking class so much as a self-care class focused on feeding ourselves.

1. I would love any recommendations you might know of!

2. Gaines, Kristi, et al. Designing for Autism Spectrum Disorders. Routledge, 2016.