Letting go of 2022
Financial differences between friends, shocking my ma with my memoir and British colonial history: let’s talk about a year of The Tiff (no longer) Weekly
How was this year for you? I like to stop and reflect on these final days of 2022, so I can prepare to step boldly into the new year ahead. I’d say this year was broadly positive for me, but when I attended a workshop with London Writers’ Salon, we were invited to reflect on both the positives and the negatives of the past year. It was healing, awakening, uncomfortable and magical all at once.
When I look back at this year, it’s been an exposing one: my first book - a candid memoir about my boyfriend’s suicide - was published. It’s also been bold: I learnt new skills, from pottery to screenwriting, made new friends and went on holiday with writers I didn’t know. 2022 felt more alive for me than 2020 or 2021 and I’m grateful for that. At the workshop, we learnt to let go and say goodbye to our more troubling points of the year. Letting go is something I want to get better at generally, but it’s particularly poignant to do it at the end of the year to prepare for the next.
Is there something that you need to let go of? I adored this chat I had with Sarah Weiler for her podcast, Knowing When To Quit. We talk about how to know whether it’s time to give up on something or if you need to keep going. Celebrating quitting is such a brilliant premise for a podcast and I believe we need to be talking about quitting more because endings are also beginnings.
This newsletter has been a bit more sporadic this year, but I’m not going to change its name from The Tiff Weekly yet - the name is part of its history and I don’t think there’s space in my brain to think about it right now. But the newsletter continues to be one of my happiest places and it’s been a joy to reflect on the top pieces I wrote this year. So here is a mix of my favourites and my most popular posts of 2022. Enjoy!
The Tiff Weekly Top 5 of 2022
I felt displaced as the nation mourned the Queen’s death
I was TERRIFIED to publish this, but it felt important to say and then it became one of my most popular newsletters of all time.
I’m difficult to place. I sound English, but people often ask where I’m from. People mostly guess (incorrectly) that I’m Spanish and when I’m travelling through Europe and parts of the Middle East, people ask if I’m one of them. I could pass for English - I’ve lived in England most of my life and I’ve become a social chameleon who can slot comfortably up and down the British class system. But it’s an illusion: I’m a second-generation immigrant whose parents aren’t even from the same place.
My mother is Irish and my dad is Greek-Cypriot and I mostly felt at ease with my mixed heritage growing up in a cosmopolitan city like London. I even played up to it on my dating profile on Hinge by saying ‘guess which countries my three passports are from.’ It worked a treat as a conversation starter. In the early days, my boyfriend had me saved on his phone as ‘Tiffany 3 passports’. It was all a bit of fun.
But since the Queen’s death, I’ve lost a bit of my humour about my mixed heritage and I’ve been feeling displaced. I felt nothing while the nation collectively mourned. My Instagram feed became loaded with pictures of her majesty and people were sharing stories of times they’d encountered the Queen. On Twitter, people were rolling their eyes at anyone who used this as a time to question the monarchy and hate was directed at anyone who dared use this historical moment as a time to question the past. As I once felt isolated in my grief when my boyfriend died by suicide, I felt isolated in my lack of grief after the Queen died.
Writing a memoir isn’t therapy
I find it easiest to write when I’m angry. People can be a bit dismissive of life writing and think it’s less deep or intellectual than other art forms. Ironic really, as in most art and storytelling, people are life writing whether or not they realise it. Anyway, I got sick of people telling me I was performing my therapy in public.
My memoir isn’t even out yet and already enough people have told me that writing my memoir must have been like therapy for me. I smile politely when people say this, but it pisses me off. I’ve written a memoir and I’ve gone to therapy and so I’m an expert on this: writing a memoir isn’t like therapy. If you reduce my memoir to a book that is a performance of therapy in public, then you’re missing the point.
'It’s a bit shocking in places'
My book has led to some strong reactions and I’m fortunate with the family I have. My book is about a controversial and difficult subject and it’s full of confessions (and cringe moments) and my family have been nothing but supportive. I talked to my mum about reading my memoir, her experience of navigating her twenties and what I was like as a child.
Tiffany: What was I like as a child?
Isabella (Tiff’s mum): You were a second child. You were quiet and serious at home, but noisy elsewhere. You never did what adults wanted or expected you to do. Every single teacher complained about you and I mean complained. They had a meeting about you at nursery when you were three years old. Analysing it as a mother, you loved attention and didn’t conform to stereotypes. From age five, you loved playing the violin because people were looking at you and you had an audience.
You were very selective about what you did. You had no interest in art and just drew a few black lines on paper. You were never phased by obstacles. If you were out on your bicycle and came across an obstacle, you’d just lift it over the thing and got back on again.
The credits don’t roll
This was raw and something I still struggle with. I’m increasingly aware of the pressures and tensions we feel as we age and the clock is ticking down on us. This one is about my fears about leaving it too late to have kids.
I didn’t know any better. I thought finding someone was the hard part. I’d spend hours on Hinge, swiping away and holding faith that once I’d cleared this hurdle and found a partner, it’d flow from there. You need to believe it gets easier. It’s what keeps you going. How wrong I was.
Dear Tiff: How can I better manage financial differences between friends?
I admired this reader for speaking to a problem that I’ve experienced and I know so many others have.
Dear Tiff,
I am a 31-year-old single woman, working in the creative industries and I earn an average salary. I live in a house share. I have a group of friends who I meet up with every couple of months, and they have all recently bought property with their partners. The issue is that the last few times we've met up, this has completely dominated the conversation, and they now see it as normal to be able to buy a place in London in your late twenties, whereas I feel like I'm living in an alternate universe.
So thank you dear readers, old and new. I feel like we’re living in a Substack boom, so I appreciate any time and attention you’ve been kind enough to give to my work this year. Our time is precious and for you to spend some of it with me, in this newsletter, means a lot to me.
So thank you and farewell to you and to 2022.
With love,
Tiffany
"You were very selective about what you did. You had no interest in art and just drew a few black lines on paper. You were never phased by obstacles." DEEP