Life happens. Constantly. We’ve all gone through those phases in which work overwhelms us and so does family and so do these commitments and so does this and so does that. The list never ends.
As I covered in my previous post, this year has been especially, well, full. I lost track of my inner duckyness. I was getting by and handling business, but I wasn’t having a whole lot of fun. Okay, no fun. I was having zero fun. And it was exhausting.
This kind of life creeps up on you. Before you know it, you can lose track of all your hobbies and outlets that make you your awesome self.
A friend of mine recently went through the same lack of joy. And she had a great idea, which I’m sharing with anyone whom I think could use a recenter.
She calls it the “100 Project.”
Master has given Ducky a sock.
Rather than wait for a specific date to roll around, I’ve found that just getting started on making a change when the inspiration hits is more effective and longer lasting. I’ve made them before, but they didn’t stick; as usual.
This year however, I’m being laid off.
Why is this happening?
Simple. The company is reorganizing. My position, and the positions of everyone else on my team here in Seattle, are being moved to the company’s headquarters on the other side of the country.
So, yeah…change is being forced upon me.
This year, I’ve tried to offer more helpful posts than not-as-helpful-but-hopefully-still-entertaining-to-some-degree posts. This post will likely fall under Column B. And it’s much more personal than I usually am here. This is not stuff I usually share outside my immediate friends and family because I like my privacy and hate being judged.
But this blog is about my life as a writer, and these past few months have impacted my ability to rub two words together.
Therefore, I share.
If you’d like something helpful, here’s Flex your skills with 5-minute freewriting.
Over the past few months, I’ve been working through one of the worst bouts of depression I’ve had in years. I haven’t been well physically or emotionally, and my creative well ran dry. By the time August rolled around, my well was more barren than Mordor.
My level of self-care went from being proactively seeking new ways to nurture myself and those around me to “Yay, my socks match and I remembered to floss! Naptime.”
Dear Writer’s Block,
Thanks to you, it’s taken me almost ten minutes to write this sentence. You’re the gag gift that comes with every blank page. The side of half-baked brussel sprouts with every meal.
You are more persistently irritating than a grain of sand nailed to the eyeball. You are a plague to writers around the world. You poison our creative wells with anxiety and depression to make sure we still suffer even when you’ve moved on to your next victim.
We cannot find peace even when you grow bored with us. For when you leave, we know you’ll come back. You always do. When we least expect it. When we most need you to leave us alone and let us work.
You, dear Writer’s Block, defy all reason and logic. Many, even fellow writers, simply don’t believe in you.
Writers write. Good writers write a lot. Or so I keep telling the junior writer I currently mentor.
She’s talented, has a terrific attitude and a bright future ahead of her. I still want to flick her in the forehead when she rolls her eyes at the suggestion that she start blogging. Especially when she follows her eye roll with “Yeah, I know I should,…but…you know…”
Incidentally, “…but, you know” is one of the worst responses ever and sets my teeth on edge every time. But I’ll spare you my rant and move on.
There exist tons of articles and posts on why writers should blog. These articles exist for a reason.
Blogging is good for you. For so many reasons. Even if no one ever reads it.