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Why Writing is HARD.
Feb. 15th, 2018 07:03 pmThis is a hard blog to write. I keep going back and forth about if I want to write it or not. Do I want to go this deeply into my personal life? At the same time, I'm all about transparency, and if I'm going to get out of this current slump I'm in, perhaps I should come forward.
I don't have an actual diagnosis, but I'm pretty sure I have a form of depression. It's not something I like to admit, and it has nothing to do with the stigma surrounding mental health issues. I just don't like talking about my problems, ever. Generally, I'm the type of person who likes to keep things to myself and sort through them on my own and in my own time. Most of the time, I know how to recover from my personal problems.
It started after the kids were born. Kid number one caused some postpartum depression which resulted in me not caring much about anything at all, period. I just wanted to lounge around and sleep. So much sleep. After a few months, my hormones shifted back to normal and I started to regain my life again as I learned how to balance being a parent for the first time. Writing was hard, but I could find a system. Most of my self esteem issues that I have now with my views on work were also blissfully absent, so I felt like the world was my publishing oyster.
Kid number two came along. The postpartum depression returned, though this time it took on a new form. Instead of being disinterested in life, I was overly interested as I tried to compensate for my sense of self-loathing. The kids were everything, being the perfect wife was everything, trying to be popular in the book world was everything. Basically, anything I could to do to make me love myself again, I tried...except for actually trying to love myself, glorious flaws and all.
I had a long talk with my pastor and another with my mom. Both sort of suggested the same thing. That I step back and not try to take too much on. For an author, that's incredibly hard to do. Writing is our life. It's our air. It's the thing that makes the world feel better. Usually. Not writing was part of my problem because I put so much of my value into being able to write a book within a month. Without new books, how was I going to put my footprint on the book world if I couldn't get people to remember I existed?
But it wasn't happening and I had to accept that part for my own good. I needed to get back to taking care of me. So that's what I did. Slowly, I started getting back into it again. I made new connections with other authors. Things were getting better.
Then the car accident happened, and I had that lovely concussion. If ever there was a day I was shaking my fist at the sky it was that one. For so long, I felt like I was another person trapped in a familiar body. Invaded and I wanted that intruder gone. I lost all the steam I had been building up after the kiddos were born, and getting it back has been almost impossible. Add onto that burden the fact that I'm so much more self aware of my standing, or lack there of, in the current book world. So much time on the back burner resulted in a loss of status. I'm not against earning it back. It's something all us authors have to do. We work our way from the ground up.
The hard part is admitting that I'm back at the ground again. During my quiet prayer time, I've gotten the revelation that it's time for me to rebuild the foundation of my life - career included. It's why there has been changes to my presence online, and why I am silently working most days. You see, during all of these slumps, I slowly started to lose my voice as a writer. That part of my narration that made my words shine in a unique way. I lost some of my love of storytelling. I lost some of my love of self.
Like I said, admitting all of this is hard. I don't want to sound like I'm making excuses for why there aren't any new books. At the same time, I guess I am. I'm not putting out new books, because I've been focusing on self care first and foremost. Secondly, I have to rebuild better habits for this new me. Because I am a new me than the one I was when my publishing adventure started. I have to accept that part too.
That being said, don't interpret this as I'm not writing. I am. There are new books on the way. The break from all of my life hurdles only caused a delay in the new books. I lost steam, and now it's time to build it back up. Build it back up in a healthy way. My goals for these books are to tell stories of quality, not just quantity. I will not put something out until its ready just for the sake of putting something out. It might not be perfect, but it will be ready. I don't want to go through that regret again (a story for another day).
So I'm going to keep fighting this depression. In comparison to what others go through, I know it's mild. It is still ruining my life. I'm tired of that.
I don't have an actual diagnosis, but I'm pretty sure I have a form of depression. It's not something I like to admit, and it has nothing to do with the stigma surrounding mental health issues. I just don't like talking about my problems, ever. Generally, I'm the type of person who likes to keep things to myself and sort through them on my own and in my own time. Most of the time, I know how to recover from my personal problems.
It started after the kids were born. Kid number one caused some postpartum depression which resulted in me not caring much about anything at all, period. I just wanted to lounge around and sleep. So much sleep. After a few months, my hormones shifted back to normal and I started to regain my life again as I learned how to balance being a parent for the first time. Writing was hard, but I could find a system. Most of my self esteem issues that I have now with my views on work were also blissfully absent, so I felt like the world was my publishing oyster.
Kid number two came along. The postpartum depression returned, though this time it took on a new form. Instead of being disinterested in life, I was overly interested as I tried to compensate for my sense of self-loathing. The kids were everything, being the perfect wife was everything, trying to be popular in the book world was everything. Basically, anything I could to do to make me love myself again, I tried...except for actually trying to love myself, glorious flaws and all.
I had a long talk with my pastor and another with my mom. Both sort of suggested the same thing. That I step back and not try to take too much on. For an author, that's incredibly hard to do. Writing is our life. It's our air. It's the thing that makes the world feel better. Usually. Not writing was part of my problem because I put so much of my value into being able to write a book within a month. Without new books, how was I going to put my footprint on the book world if I couldn't get people to remember I existed?
But it wasn't happening and I had to accept that part for my own good. I needed to get back to taking care of me. So that's what I did. Slowly, I started getting back into it again. I made new connections with other authors. Things were getting better.
Then the car accident happened, and I had that lovely concussion. If ever there was a day I was shaking my fist at the sky it was that one. For so long, I felt like I was another person trapped in a familiar body. Invaded and I wanted that intruder gone. I lost all the steam I had been building up after the kiddos were born, and getting it back has been almost impossible. Add onto that burden the fact that I'm so much more self aware of my standing, or lack there of, in the current book world. So much time on the back burner resulted in a loss of status. I'm not against earning it back. It's something all us authors have to do. We work our way from the ground up.
The hard part is admitting that I'm back at the ground again. During my quiet prayer time, I've gotten the revelation that it's time for me to rebuild the foundation of my life - career included. It's why there has been changes to my presence online, and why I am silently working most days. You see, during all of these slumps, I slowly started to lose my voice as a writer. That part of my narration that made my words shine in a unique way. I lost some of my love of storytelling. I lost some of my love of self.
Like I said, admitting all of this is hard. I don't want to sound like I'm making excuses for why there aren't any new books. At the same time, I guess I am. I'm not putting out new books, because I've been focusing on self care first and foremost. Secondly, I have to rebuild better habits for this new me. Because I am a new me than the one I was when my publishing adventure started. I have to accept that part too.
That being said, don't interpret this as I'm not writing. I am. There are new books on the way. The break from all of my life hurdles only caused a delay in the new books. I lost steam, and now it's time to build it back up. Build it back up in a healthy way. My goals for these books are to tell stories of quality, not just quantity. I will not put something out until its ready just for the sake of putting something out. It might not be perfect, but it will be ready. I don't want to go through that regret again (a story for another day).
So I'm going to keep fighting this depression. In comparison to what others go through, I know it's mild. It is still ruining my life. I'm tired of that.
