I also was thinking about the word “mortification” recently - I feel like it could be endlessly unpacked. And Elif Batuman came up in that same essay. Here’s a paragraph from it, but now I want to do the actual writing about it for days!
“I want to write for days about this. About Chris Kraus and “I Love Dick,” and about claiming mortification, leaning into it, celebrating it. Totally diving into subjective experience, at the expense of relationships and work and reputation. Letting projection become reality, in an act of rebellion. Throwing yourself at the feet of embarrassment, shame. Turning it on its head. Using it as a muse. How we’ve made mortification such a female experience, such an isolating experience. How that’s even a word, mortification; how it means both “humiliation and shame,” and, “subduing one’s bodily desires.” Mortis. Death. How we look away from it. How cringe.”
So ironic that I sat reading this yesterday while sitting in the breast clinic of our local hospital waiting to have a breast cyst aspirated. I’d already shown my small less than impressive boobs to three health professionals and subsequently showed them to another three, swearing in agony as the sonographer attempted to extract fluid from my reluctant to breech cyst in my left breast. I was sat there in the waiting room (the second visit in 4 months) thinking if only my breasts gave more back to the world, laughing to myself at your use of the phrase ‘mortification of the flesh’, how mortified I would be if it was in fact my disappointing breasts that were ultimately responsible for killing me! At the same visit I sat listening to a breast cancer survivor who had found a new lump years after first diagnosis and how she hadn’t let her family know she was there. She was saving them the worry in case it was nothing. I was there alone, saving my family the hassle of sitting in a waiting room for 4 hours. In response to your previous piece, we women are always trying to save someone else from feeling their emotions, not thinking about what we would actually need in response to OUR emotions. I (disappointingly) apologised to the staff for my uncontrollable swearing, comforting their discomfort in denial of my own actual needs.
I wrote some about cellulite in my book. Embracing it, wishing for it, mourning all I had sacrificed so that I could erase it, erase my flesh. I published my book last year—I just turned 53 on 5/29/25. Putting the book out was a massive release. I’d been getting closer and closer to being “in recovery,” and had finally made it. I hold tight to my cellulite now. I finally got some after so much of a life spent at work to diminish my body. At 6 feet tall, it was all I knew to do to quiet the self loathing. I would never want to go back to younger me. I’m aging all over the place and it’s beautiful.
Loved this post! So relieved the wallet was not gone!
This is hysterical. Thank you. I was lucky enough to be at the event and thought your outfit was amazing!! Loved. Where is the yellow skirt from?
I had wanted to ask a question, but there were no audience questions. I would have liked to ask this: “In the year / year and a half of promoting the novel…. Have you wanted to rewrite parts of it? Have you imagined what you’d go back and change if anything? Or are you able to just leave it as it is and accept that it’s finished and locked?” I don’t know how authors manage this! Especially when they tour and talk about the text repeatedly…they’re forced to revisit it!
“would hate to be a soul full of regrets about what I didn’t do when I had a human body” — best line and an important reminder for those of us still in human bodies!
Also, shocked how completely chill you were about potentially losing your wallet on the streets of nyc… or just having a leather bag full of water! to begin with. You are a real trooper. Nerves of steel?
Literally subscribed to talk about The Safekeep. I finished it just last night and the way van der Wouden writes about the weather and desire were equally thrilling to me. Couldn’t stop reading. What did you think?
You and your friends are weird and exciting and beautiful “Oh this curl fell down while I was fucking” and I hope to meet you one day. Your purse full of water. Your breasts still all present and accounted for after all these years(!), your goofy brothel of bestie babes. I’m a guy, and I’m wrestling mightily with getting my book out by the fall and I wish you would read it and write something pithy that I could put on the back cover. Not sure why I’m so emboldened to say this but there it is.
Reading this made me feel so happy. I realize I have been thinking a lot about how certain spaces or places can kind of nudge us onto a moving sidewalk of rote behavior that doesn’t feel genuine to us or our desires, but is the template of “how to be, here” that we picked up from wherever - our childhood or parents, a friend we admired, a film we saw - and it can seem quite transgressive to not do it. Like go to NYC and mostly stay and socialize in our hotel room, which sounds like heaven to me. In fact, I’m doing the same thing this week but in a friend’s borrowed apartment, and I truly can’t wait to lie fallow in someone else’s bed.
Every time you show some partial boobs on your videos I always think, her breasts are so beautiful. And I loooove TM also. If I could live in that space forever I would, and never come out slowly. I reserved The Safekeep. Thanks for a recommendation
Incredible loop back: "nothing in the backseat (not even my middle school Latin)" 👏👏👏
I also was thinking about the word “mortification” recently - I feel like it could be endlessly unpacked. And Elif Batuman came up in that same essay. Here’s a paragraph from it, but now I want to do the actual writing about it for days!
“I want to write for days about this. About Chris Kraus and “I Love Dick,” and about claiming mortification, leaning into it, celebrating it. Totally diving into subjective experience, at the expense of relationships and work and reputation. Letting projection become reality, in an act of rebellion. Throwing yourself at the feet of embarrassment, shame. Turning it on its head. Using it as a muse. How we’ve made mortification such a female experience, such an isolating experience. How that’s even a word, mortification; how it means both “humiliation and shame,” and, “subduing one’s bodily desires.” Mortis. Death. How we look away from it. How cringe.”
https://open.substack.com/pub/monicadiodati/p/its-personal?r=7wxzx&utm_medium=ios
So ironic that I sat reading this yesterday while sitting in the breast clinic of our local hospital waiting to have a breast cyst aspirated. I’d already shown my small less than impressive boobs to three health professionals and subsequently showed them to another three, swearing in agony as the sonographer attempted to extract fluid from my reluctant to breech cyst in my left breast. I was sat there in the waiting room (the second visit in 4 months) thinking if only my breasts gave more back to the world, laughing to myself at your use of the phrase ‘mortification of the flesh’, how mortified I would be if it was in fact my disappointing breasts that were ultimately responsible for killing me! At the same visit I sat listening to a breast cancer survivor who had found a new lump years after first diagnosis and how she hadn’t let her family know she was there. She was saving them the worry in case it was nothing. I was there alone, saving my family the hassle of sitting in a waiting room for 4 hours. In response to your previous piece, we women are always trying to save someone else from feeling their emotions, not thinking about what we would actually need in response to OUR emotions. I (disappointingly) apologised to the staff for my uncontrollable swearing, comforting their discomfort in denial of my own actual needs.
I wrote some about cellulite in my book. Embracing it, wishing for it, mourning all I had sacrificed so that I could erase it, erase my flesh. I published my book last year—I just turned 53 on 5/29/25. Putting the book out was a massive release. I’d been getting closer and closer to being “in recovery,” and had finally made it. I hold tight to my cellulite now. I finally got some after so much of a life spent at work to diminish my body. At 6 feet tall, it was all I knew to do to quiet the self loathing. I would never want to go back to younger me. I’m aging all over the place and it’s beautiful.
Loved this post! So relieved the wallet was not gone!
This is hysterical. Thank you. I was lucky enough to be at the event and thought your outfit was amazing!! Loved. Where is the yellow skirt from?
I had wanted to ask a question, but there were no audience questions. I would have liked to ask this: “In the year / year and a half of promoting the novel…. Have you wanted to rewrite parts of it? Have you imagined what you’d go back and change if anything? Or are you able to just leave it as it is and accept that it’s finished and locked?” I don’t know how authors manage this! Especially when they tour and talk about the text repeatedly…they’re forced to revisit it!
Airtag in the wallet! It has saved me unnumbered times
“would hate to be a soul full of regrets about what I didn’t do when I had a human body” — best line and an important reminder for those of us still in human bodies!
Also, shocked how completely chill you were about potentially losing your wallet on the streets of nyc… or just having a leather bag full of water! to begin with. You are a real trooper. Nerves of steel?
Literally subscribed to talk about The Safekeep. I finished it just last night and the way van der Wouden writes about the weather and desire were equally thrilling to me. Couldn’t stop reading. What did you think?
I just wrote about it in the chat!
Loved this! laughed out loud many times while reading (I had a sense of his whole day ❤️)
Dear Miranda,
You and your friends are weird and exciting and beautiful “Oh this curl fell down while I was fucking” and I hope to meet you one day. Your purse full of water. Your breasts still all present and accounted for after all these years(!), your goofy brothel of bestie babes. I’m a guy, and I’m wrestling mightily with getting my book out by the fall and I wish you would read it and write something pithy that I could put on the back cover. Not sure why I’m so emboldened to say this but there it is.
Reading this made me feel so happy. I realize I have been thinking a lot about how certain spaces or places can kind of nudge us onto a moving sidewalk of rote behavior that doesn’t feel genuine to us or our desires, but is the template of “how to be, here” that we picked up from wherever - our childhood or parents, a friend we admired, a film we saw - and it can seem quite transgressive to not do it. Like go to NYC and mostly stay and socialize in our hotel room, which sounds like heaven to me. In fact, I’m doing the same thing this week but in a friend’s borrowed apartment, and I truly can’t wait to lie fallow in someone else’s bed.
Such a relief that you found it! I also just finished Safekeep would love to discuss 😊
Every time you show some partial boobs on your videos I always think, her breasts are so beautiful. And I loooove TM also. If I could live in that space forever I would, and never come out slowly. I reserved The Safekeep. Thanks for a recommendation
Why was this just bliss to read? 💖
This was a rollicking good read. One gets the sense that to be a Miranda July friend must be endlessly entertaining.
This was so marvellous to read, thank you 💛