A few days ago I got a letter in the mail from my insurance company, Allstate. First I thought it might be the Allstate guy himself Dennis Haysbert, reaching out to make sure I knew was in good hands.
It wasn’t.
“Dear Jamie,
We recently attempted to send you an eBill email for a new billing document, but our email to JAMIE.FELDMAN@HUFFPOST.COM was undeliverable. Your document is available to view your document on My Account.”
Wh- why? Was I using my work email address to correspond with Allstate?
It could have been a blip, a mistake. Except it wasn’t. Recently I’d tried to order sushi on Seamless (from Inaka in Brooklyn, inquiring minds) only to be locked out of my account after too many failed sign in attempts. Turns out I got it wrong repeatedly because I kept entering my personal email, and my account was actually linked to my work address.
My therapist tried to send me a new Zoom link for our session a few weeks ago and found she didn’t even have my personal email address. When I went to send her something, I realized I didn’t have her address loaded in my personal email account, either.
So, OK. Sure. There were times when I would use my HuffPost email address for clout, sort of a badge of cool to get people to talk to me, make myself seem more important than I actually felt.
But how do I explain using it to sign up for things like.. homeowner’s insurance? And therapy?
To figure this out we have to go back — way back. I couldn’t quite believe it when I was offered a job (er, fellowship) at HuffPost in 2014. I didn’t go to journalism school, I didn’t really know anything about working in a newsroom. It felt very much like I’d talked so loudly and so much that I’d tricked the hiring managers into thinking I belonged there.
I felt that despite the fact that I’d been laying down the groundwork since 2011, when I saw a job posting for a senior travel editor position for AOL.com on a website I’d just signed up for and didn’t really know how to use — Twitter. I was recently out of college and unqualified for this job. Not imposter syndrome unqualified. Like, actually unqualified. Still, somehow, I found myself responding to the tweet and sending along my (sparse) resume.
A few days later I got an email from someone named Samantha Feldman. Not, as I thought, my mom Samantha Feldman. Samantha Feldman, an employee in the human resources department at AOL who I was not related to but has the same name as my mom Samantha Feldman. She had noticed my last name was Feldman and felt compelled to reach out.
As predicted, I was not qualified for a senior level editor job. But it didn’t matter. I’d walked through the Feldman foyer. From there I spent years reaching out to not-mom Samantha Feldman. I started my blog The Real Girl Project which aimed to make fashion accessible for all bodies and budgets (years before other, much bigger publications would begin realizing they should be doing it, too) and would send her updates, asked about job opportunities. Two years went by before I̶ ̶f̶i̶n̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶w̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶d̶o̶w̶n̶ something opened up: a paid internship in the Style section.
Still, I felt like I cheated the system. And I’d felt like this before, in high school. I was a pretty bad student. Smart, sure, but a bad student. Probably undiagnosed ADHD, unresolved trauma, etc. etc. etc.
Which is why it was pretty comical that I had auditioned, and been chosen, to be class speaker at graduation.
Two weeks before graduation I was at the beach (probably on a school day) when I noticed three missed calls from three different teachers. Teachers who I’d tricked into liking me so much that maybe my grades wouldn’t matter. My government teacher was not one of those teachers. I had failed to make such an impression on him (probably because I never showed up to his class) and as a result he had failed -- me. I was on the not graduating list.
How was I going to speak at graduation if I wasn’t… graduating?
It took a lot of convincing and a full day of making up missed assignments but I passed that class with a 65, graduated and gave my speech. I’d pulled it off. I didn’t tell my mom until a year later, when I was already in college (another place I didn’t exactly.. flourish academically).
So, you see, getting this job made me feel like I’d pulled off the ultimate trick. I wasn’t really actually a good writer. Just a good talker. And now I’d been accepted into a world that felt beyond my reach — I belonged somewhere. And my bill of entry was that email address.
Having a “cool” job meant it was often what I lead with, or what people lead with when they introduced me. I became Jamie Feldman, reporter at HuffPost, to new people at parties, my mom’s friends, briefly on dating apps (I eventually realized having my job on dating apps was a very bad idea). I felt good, worthy. This is who I was. Jamie from HuffPost.
But that’s not who I was. I didn’t know who I was. And I still don’t. Sometimes when I’m drunk I stare at myself in my bathroom mirror, trying to understand how it is that I am seeing what I see, what it is I’m looking at. I never really gave this drunk behavior much thought until I realized how easy it is for me to lose that sense of self.
It happened last week. Creating a routine, no matter how small, has been extremely important and grounding for me. I wake up, walk and feed Joni, meditate, make coffee, maybe workout, listen to The Daily and make my bed. The anniversary of my dad’s death hit me hard this year (thanks for making me feel my feelings, therapy!) and I got pretty sick from my second dose of the COVID vaccine one day later. By Thursday I was still on my ass, not adhering to my routine, scrolling incessantly on social media and punishing myself for taking “all this time” to rest.
If I’m not being productive, if I’m not “making” something, not making you laugh or making a funny video on Instagram or writing a compelling newsletter — what is my worth? How will I find somewhere to belong? I’m so afraid of losing control of the strict narrative I’ve created for myself. I’ve created a world where there’s no gray area, no room for disturbance, no room to deviate without feeling like all the seams are going to rip off and everything will be ruined. It’s all or nothing. I even tried to push myself to get a newsletter out last Thursday and (thankfully) realized I truly had nothing honest to share, nothing that wouldn’t feel forced. But that was really hard to do without feeling like I’d never write another newsletter again.
Yet, here we are.
I spent seven years working at HuffPost, and try as I might, I couldn’t help but let the job seep into my identity. So much so, apparently, that signed up for things like homeowner’s insurance with my work email address, confident that I would just have that email address forever. That it was me.
I have always felt like the good things that have happened to me have been on account of luck, instead of hard work and determination. But getting to where I am with no connections (unless you count an HR person who coincidentally has the same name as my mom) isn’t lucky, it’s an accomplishment. It’s often hard for us to admit that to ourselves, but I’m starting to try.
I’ve spent my entire life trying to prove I’m worthy of belonging places — my job was just one in a long line. But it wasn’t really about the job — it was about the feeling of belonging. When you grow up longing for a sense of approval from anyone, it’s too easy to let whatever approval you do get dictate your worth. Much like my work email address, nothing, aside from finding a sense of your own self worth from within, is permanent.
Honestly, I still don’t really know who the fuck I am. But I know that it isn’t dictated by my email address.
Here are a few other things I know (and love) this week:
ABERCROMBIE JEANS. I did it, y’all. I bought these Abercrombie jeans and they are everything I dreamed of and more. Already plotting how to get my hands on a pair of shorts (the ultimate denim test) and will keep you posted.
This travel crate! A niche one for the dog owners out there, but I bought this travel crate for Joni ahead of a cross country road trip (that begins one week from today!!) and she LOVES it. She goes right in without having to be coaxed with treats or anything. It’s way too big for my apartment but I highly recommend to anyone with travel plans and pups.
These vermouth colored big buckle Birkenstocks. I’ve been living in the same pair for more than a year now, and I’ve actually been trying to find the navy pair but it appears to be discontinued (if anyone with Birkenstock intel is reading this please help me I will love you forever). These are a pretty solid alternative.
My new wallpaper! I was actually influenced by my former co-worker on this wallpaper. I ordered it from Wallpapers To Go and it was backordered for months. It’s finally going in today and I can’t wait to share how it looks!
And this hot pink Joylab Target sweat set. I can’t seem to find the exact one online, but this is the color and I LOVE IT. I can’t wait to see how it looks with a tan this summer.
OK - that’s all. I, whoever that is, loves you, whoever that is.
XO
Jamie AF
Well, I for one, being your mom, Samantha Feldman, know that you’re an awesome human learning to love yourself a little bit more everyday. Now see what you can do about finding that Allstate Guy so I can finally tell him that he’s in fact my boyfriend and has been since he first arrived on the Allstate scene!
YF#1F
xoxo
as always, so relatable and lovely to read!