I’ve been feeling really blocked lately. Stuck in molasses. Lost for words. Tired and grumpy. Missing gluten. Craving coffee. I felt completely out of the loop. Thank heavens for Twitter: I discovered this post about ‘getting my write back‘. And then I read Suzie’s post and realised that maybe I do have something to say, after all.
So here are some discoveries I’ve tripped over in my recent self-involved phase…
- I am fallible. Cue shocked sounds. I am not Superwoman. I am ageing gently and I need rest, a good diet, supplements (preferably prescription strength) and help with chores. I try to hold everything together and all I manage to do is slide into panic, with a tinge of chaos and a side of exhaustion. Charming company, I’m not. Ignoring my body is just detrimental to my sanity. I am far less emotionally resilient when I’m physically exhausted, and feeling like I want to curl in a ball and sleep for another six months just sucks. I want to be excited about my holiday so here’s hoping the new Vit D supplements kick in by next week!
- Doing everything right doesn’t mean everything is going to turn out right. I had a lightbulb moment talking to a friend last weekend. My refrain when talking about my traumatic childbirth experience has always been, “But I did everything right during my pregnancy!” As though all the healthy eating, yoga, Pilates and hypnobirthing exercises somehow insulated me, protected me & my baby. Yes, we are miles away from the births our grandmothers and great-grandmothers experienced, but it doesn’t mean that sh*t can’t happen. I don’t know why this was such a seismic shift, but it was. I think I have finally accepted that I didn’t ‘break’ my baby. Perhaps I can start applying this to other situations in my life, too.
- All these realisations and epiphanies don’t immunise me from the bad flashbacks. I watched Madam Secretary the other night. We’re a little behind in the UK, so we’re up to the episode where she gets attacked in Iran (S1 E16), and then suffers the flashbacks and trauma when she gets home. I cried, folks, I cried like a baby. Just watching her lose it, go through the panic attack, thinking it was a heart attack, reminded me how much I NEVER want to feel like that again. Remember this post? Yep, took me right back. What a wringer! But what a blessing to realise how long I’ve been panic-attack free. Weeks instead of days. I’m aiming for months instead of weeks now.
And now I kinda feel all written out in a good way.
How are you feeling? What do you do to get your writing groove back? Where do you find inspiration?