Let's Talk Writer's Block

Writing again is really, truly difficult. After so much silence, I feel I have nothing to say. And everything to say. And nothing to say. Feeling of fullness and emptiness, desolation and overgrowth alternating back and forth in microseconds in an interminable loop. All day, every day. The desire to write. The confidence that I have nothing to write. Feeling like a fraud. Wanting to redeem myself.

There is, of course, the fear that the writing portion of my life may be over, the worry that it was something that helped me through difficult times when I was young, that I clung to it through college and graduate school because it was the thing that I had most enjoyed and felt marginally talented at, and now, outside of (relative) youth, outside of school, it has left me.

There is, of course, the other thought. The one that says that things ebb and flow. That you have to work really hard to maintain good relationships--with loved ones, with friends, with passion projects. That it's natural for things to drop out of focus sometimes, even lifelong passions and goals, as you pick up new careers, new passions, new interests.

That a true love is something you can always come back to.

That there are no time limits, there is no rush.

Everything, in its own time.

Then back to beating myself up because I decide how I spend my time on this Earth and I  haven't prioritized enough of it. I haven't spent it doing the things that, when I truly think about it, I believe truly matter.

But of course, day to day, there's the work, the paycheck I need to live, the exhaustion when I get home, the copious amount of really good television.

I am me and I am always good enough.

I am me and I'm never good enough.

I am me and I really, really want to do the things that will make me good enough to myself.

I am me, and of course, you are always good enough if you truly love yourself.

I love myself.

I am not good enough.

I struggle. I strive.

I go around and around.

If you are reading this, these thoughts probably don't surprise you. Maybe they ring an eery and uncomfortable bell. Maybe they make you blush to think this is me! Maybe they make you sad. Maybe you think suck it up, buttercup, and do the work. I'm not you, so I don't know what these words do for you. But I think if you've made it this far, you've probably experienced something like what I've experienced. Because if not, why are you here?

This has been an exercise in getting unstuck. I had other posts open and couldn't seem to drum up the interest or the inspiration or the luster or something to write them. So I wrote this instead.

If you came here hoping for tips on defeating writer's block, I am sorry. This is not that. Know that you are not alone. Know that it's okay if you decide that this isn't something that is truly important to you anymore. Know that you can come back to it later if it becomes truly important again. Know that you're allowed to put some subpar work out there, even if "out there" only means in your own Documents folder, while you sort it out.

I wrote this to get unstuck. To put consciousness to paper. To look at my demons and say here, look at how ugly and stupid you look. Bugger off. Hit the road. Bye Felicia.

Let's see if it worked.