FIRST EDITION
text and artwork copyright © 2020 by Hana Shafi
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Title: Small, broke, and kind of dirty : affirmations for the real world / Hana Shafi.
Names: Shafi, Hana, 1993– author.
Series: Salon series (Toronto, Ont.) ; no. 3.
Description: First edition. | Series statement: The salon series ; no. 3
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20200287540 | Canadiana (ebook) 20200287575 | ISBN 9781771666091 (softcover) | ISBN 9781771666107 (EPUB) | ISBN 9781771666114 (PDF) | ISBN 9781771666121 (Kindle)
Subjects: LCSH: Affirmations. | LCSH: Self-esteem. | LCSH: Conduct of life. | LCSH: Peace of mind. | LCSH: Inspiration.
Classification: LCC BF697.5.S46 S53 2020 | DDC 158.1—dc23
The production of this book was made possible through the generous assistance of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council. Book*hug Press also acknowledges the support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and the Ontario Book Fund.
Book*hug Press acknowledges that the land on which we operate is the traditional territory of many nations, including the Mississaugas of the Credit, the Anishnabeg, the Chippawa, the Haudenosaunee and the Wendat peoples. We recognize the enduring presence of many diverse First Nations, Inuit, and Métis peoples and are grateful for the opportunity to meet and work on this territory.
To the friends who know me wholly and love me anyways
Copyright
Dedication
Introduction: This Is Not a Self-help Book
On Kindness
On Bodies
On Politics
On Self-Love and Healing
On Resilience and Mental Health
Acknowledgements
I can’t give you advice. And I probably shouldn’t. That may sound strange coming from someone whose art is so focused on mental health and making people feel good. But I always feel it’s important to stress that I’m in no way, shape, or form giving folks advice. I’m not in any position to do that. I’m not a psychiatrist or a counsellor or a lifestyle coach. What I am is a storyteller. I tell stories—in words and in art—that make people feel less alone, that affirm people as they are, and that maybe get them a little riled up about the big-picture stuff that really matters in the world.
When I started my affirmation art series on social media in March 2016, I didn’t actually know I was starting a series. I had never made any art like this before. I preferred drawing weird, morbid things—surreal black-and-white cartoon portraits. I sort of saw myself as an artist, but not really. I sort of saw myself as a writer, but not really. I just knew I wanted to keep creating, but that’s easier said than done when you’re broke and giving your art away for free just so it has a chance to be out there. I started to feel hopeless about the world, and I knew I had to do something different. I wanted to start making things that made me and others feel hopeful—even when it felt like there wasn’t much to hold on to, and even when we just didn’t feel good.
And then a funny thing happened. Making others smile started to make me smile; it made me feel really good. Maybe there was hope, after all. Maybe art wasn’t purposeless. Maybe it could make people feel, and feel deeply. Maybe art could be an act of kindness, and kindness could be a radical type of activism. The series took off online, and I’ve been making affirmations ever since.
But I’ve always been a storyteller at heart, and when I started thinking about compiling some of my favourite pieces from the series into a book, I knew I had a lot more to say about each of them. If a simple illustration could make someone feel like they weren’t totally alone in this shit-show of a world, then maybe a good story could go a step further and make them feel like maybe the world wasn’t a shit-show at all (or at least not entirely a shit-show). If a drawing could make someone feel like it’s okay to be sad, then maybe a good story could drive that point home. Maybe it could let that person know they are valid as they are, no matter where they happen to be in their life. That seemed to me like something worth doing.
But when I got down to writing pieces to accompany the art affirmations, I realized I had some unwritten rules for myself. First, I didn’t want to come off all sunshine and rainbows and unicorns. That’s not my life, and I’m guessing it’s not yours either. I didn’t want to censor myself by focusing only on the positive. I wanted the words to be real, and raw, and sometimes not entirely pretty. I knew it wouldn’t matter whether the story was harrowing or shocking or completely out of this world, as long as it came from an honest place. And this was a deal-breaker for me: I didn’t want anything I wrote to be consumed as tragic trauma porn. I would willingly share my own crap (sometimes quite literally, as you’ll see), but never with the intent of garnering sympathy or giving off a “Hey, look at what I’ve been through” vibe. What it came down to was this: I wanted to write about my very regular and sometimes not-so-regular experiences because I hope (and believe) they will reflect some of your regular and not-so-regular experiences. And maybe it’s precisely those experiences that say the most about our spirit and that connect us all so universally.
So, I can’t give you advice. And I really shouldn’t. I haven’t yet figured out how to meditate, I’ve never kept up going to the gym for longer than a week, and I will willingly consume a meal with heavy cream even though I know very well that I shouldn’t. I am in absolutely no position to tell you what to do. But if you are going through your life clumsily and embarrassingly, sometimes hopefully and sometimes hopelessly, sometimes looking beyond the horizon and other times just trying to figure out whether you’ll have enough clean underwear to get you through the week—well, I can tell you that I am too. And maybe, in the end, that’s better than advice.