And Then She Wrote...
I'm going through it, too. In the meantime, maybe you missed these...
Hello friends, I’m glad you’re here. Really glad. Or as glad as I can be while I go through whatever the hell this is that is making me question everything and come to no good conclusions.
It started long before I read Helen Redfern’s confessional about her own burn-out. She spoke to me—so, so beautifully—but so much of what she said hit hard because they’re the very same thoughts I’ve been having myself:
What’s wrong with just ticking along (for now) here on Substack? What’s wrong with plodding? With quietly adding to my word count every week via tiny steps? Why do I feel I have to have everything done right now - quickly! - otherwise I’m a failure. Why do I keep setting myself up for failure by comparing myself to others and adding to my activities?
My own confession: I’m feeling lost and demoralized and wondering—again—why I’m even bothering. Maybe it’s time to hang it up and move on. Maybe I’ve said all I need to say and now it’s time to turn it over to those others who have more energy, better ideas, stronger wills—those who have the desire.
Maybe.
I’m in the throes of grieving again, after 15 months without Ed. I’m back home in the house we shared for almost 30 years, and the loss, like crashing waves, is battering me all over again. I’m trying to declutter, and, in the process, I’m throwing out or giving away parts of our lives together. Is it too soon? Maybe. But I need calm. I need quiet. And I’m not feeling it surrounded by so much stuff.
I’m getting cranky and I know it. I’m over on Notes too much and too much over there is irritating me. I need to back off. I need to take a break. Nothing feels right.
Nothing I’m writing these days is coming out the way I want it to. My drafts folder is filling up with no end in sight. But I need to be here. Right here. Even though I feel as if I have nothing to give.
I miss it when I’m not here—and when you’re not here. So I’m sharing a few pieces I’ve published here and at Constant Commoner, in hopes that I can cheer myself up. If they were meant to inspire, it’s obviously me who needs them now. (If they do the same for you, I’m even happier.)
In the meantime, I’m working on whatever this is that’s threatening to wring the joy out of me. It’ll get better. Any day now…
Thanks again for being here. The conversation pits are open, as always.
Thanks so much for being here. If you liked these selections, please share and comment and hit that little heart. All of those things mean so much.
Until next time. I hope you’re finding your way and that your days are filled with wonder and joy. ❤
I think you’re connecting two important things: the desire to move slowly and the instinct to punch back at anything that tries to hurry you up. Those feel like they have the shades of grief to me.
I realized for me that deep grief and loss makes me dizzy inside. I need slowness to not feel toppled over. When I reflect back on the four years it’s taken to “re-stabilize,” I realize that grief needed slowness to “digest.”
You can go slowly and still matter. You can write less and still matter. I think the folks at Substack have a directive to grow this thing, to keep bringing in more readers, more resources, more writers and to tirelessly proclaim the value that you and I already know Substack has. The concerted effort of teams can feel pushy at times. But just know: they aren’t changing my mind about you being someone I want to hear from. 🫶
Even though I am not grieving, I feel exactly where you are on your journey. I am plodding along, but at the same time, I am living life. Now that summer, and a nice one at that, has arrived, I find it harder to stay focused on my sequel YA fantasy novel. I am querying the first manuscript and some days feeling guilty because I don't move as fast as other authors to accomplish goals. Yet I write and edit daily for a few hours. I write my Substack articles, there's this appointment and that one, lunch out with hubby, tea with friends, walks with my pooch. Oh and camping. I think at certain times, during certain seasons, its the Universe's way to show at this point in one's life, maybe other things rank just as important as the writing and accomplishing. As long as you (and I) continue to find joy in the process and time spent, it doesn't matter how many hours are invested, are we happy 'just doing.' Thank you for your post! Know you are not alone.