Here I go writing again

Today I write about writing

I’m going to try to write here again.

A friend told me that there’s something special about writing somewhere public but quiet, so here I am. Not like anybody is here to criticize or judge me.

I’ve had a pattern of going “all in” trying to do or build something, and promptly giving up after the initial enthusiasm wanes. I suppose it’s my (very much undiagnosed) ADHD 🤷🏻‍♀️

Writing is something that I’ve dipped in and out of pretty much all my life. I wrote a lot as a kid — diary, made-up stories, “poetry”, letters, you name it. And after all, I did go to university for English (Rhetoric and Professional Writing).

During university, I kept a blog called “Pieces of Eternity”, between 2014 and 2016. I wrote about my everyday musings, books and films I was consuming, and whatever else was happening around me. I was young, stupid, and thought I had it all figured it. It’s not up anymore, but I recently imported the blog entries to this Substack, so if you must, you can check them out. Spoiler alert: I was pretty damn cringe. But revisiting them, I thought it was amusing to read about things that I wrote “I’d never forget this” about. I can no longer remember these things, not in detail anyway. So, I guess I was wrong.

Towards the end of 2016 when I started preparing for graduation and finding work, I stopped writing. My career always seemed to consume me — and not in a good way. Is there a good way?

After I started working I wrote one thing in 2018, and I didn’t write again for 4 years.

During this 4-year absence from writing, I worked nearly non-stop from startup to startup, took hundreds of hospital trips when my mom got sick, and then we watched her die, both slowly and quickly. She was diagnosed with glioblastoma in the summer of 2019 and left us in the summer of 2021.

When I lost my mom, I disappeared within myself for months. I was high-functioning at work (at least I think I was), during all my unofficial executor duties, and when I was with other people. I had to smile and nod, again and again, to everyone and their mothers telling me “Your mom would’ve wanted you to be happy”. But after that, I simply didn’t have anything left in me. I couldn’t even bring myself to feel sadness for months. I felt nothing. I was depleted — of energy, of motivation, of feelings, of hope. I thought I was never gonna get out of it.

The following spring, in April 2022, I started this Substack, as a way to get my griefy brain out of the gutter. The writing felt cathartic. As if just typing down the words that were so inadequate to capture how I felt, I could externalize at least a fraction of what I felt. And once the feelings were externalized, “out there”, they couldn’t consume me from “in here” anymore.

I found a lot of comfort in writing during the short few months I wrote. And then, I stopped again. This time, it was because I threw myself into a new job, a new purpose, a new challenge. And I welcomed it with open arms and let that consume me. I leaned into work and productivity, perhaps because that was easier than facing myself.

While that clearly wasn’t healthy, I did meet some new great friends at this new job. In a way I owe my recovery to them. Friends who were not afraid of telling me that they were proud of me, friends who were not afraid of being vulnerable, friends who — knowingly or not — encouraged me to put my own needs first. And so, a few months into that job, I gathered just enough hope to seek out therapy.

It took me about a month of ups and downs of meeting a few different therapists before I found the right one for me. We met weekly for about 8 months. She introduced many tools to me for navigating my many struggles.

I had a tool for when I can’t bring myself out of bed, for when I’m frustrated and misunderstood, for when I’m demotivated… But the most important lesson I learned was that no tool is a silver bullet. Instead, for the most part, you just have to try it to see if it does the job. If it doesn’t, no biggie, there are other tools you could try. So, I suppose the most important skill I learned was to find, build, and adapt new tools for myself. And I hope to share them over time too.

By the time my therapy ended, it was April of last year (2023), and for the rest of the year, I focused on one tool — a daily habit: Morning Pages.

I spent about 3 months slowly reading through The Artist’s Way, a book by Julia Cameron written to help people with what she called “creative recovery”. It was the right book, right time, and while other tools probably would’ve been helpful too, I focused on this one.

Morning Pages are three pages of longhand, stream of consciousness writing, done first thing in the morning. *There is no wrong way to do Morning Pages*– they are not high art. They are not even “writing.” They are about anything and everything that crosses your mind– and they are for your eyes only. Morning Pages provoke, clarify, comfort, cajole, prioritize and synchronize the day at hand. Do not over-think Morning Pages: just put three pages of anything on the page...and then do three more pages tomorrow. (Source)

Admittedly, I tried and failed many times before the habit took hold. Even now, I’m not writing every morning. Some mornings I get out of bed a little too late, or put on my makeup a little too slowly, or get distracted by an overnight text, and I slip up. But I don’t beat myself up about it, for the most part — I still kinda do when I slip up a few days in a roll. I’m able to accept my shortcomings and still be able to show up the next time, rather than tossing my hands up and giving up on it.

It’s been almost a year since I began writing morning pages somewhat consistently. Each morning I choose to return to my pages. It’s effortful. But happiness is effortful. And I’m proud of myself for showing up, day after day, to sit down with my iPad and Apple Pencil (almost) every morning, for myself.

My morning pages are like conversations with myself, allowing me to sit with myself, unfiltered, and be okay with who I see. As time went on, I felt more at ease in my relationships, I second guessed my intuition less, and I noticed more serendipity around me. And that was when I knew morning pages were the right tool for me.

And then one day, something clicked and a creative tap was unclogged. Maybe because I’m more present, I found myself inspired all the time — more ideas, images and stories flood my mind than I have time to action. I suppose that’s a good problem to have, and I’ve been quietly documenting whatever I could remember on a Notion page. Maybe I’ll start sharing some of them here over time.

I’m not sure how I was planning to end this note. I suppose I wanted to write about the role writing has played in my life so far. I’ve written enough to know that writing is good for me — whether it’s here, on my pages, or even in productive contexts. Writing has always served me well by clarifying my thinking, sometimes slowing down or speeding it up. It has helped me imagine, create, reflect, express, push and pull on threads I otherwise wouldn’t even notice.

And so, I’m back on this Substack.