The question I get asked most often these days is are you writing anything?
My usual response is: I write nearly every day in my journal and I’ve completed several articles for a client. But when it comes to blog posts, I’ve been, well, stuck.
I wouldn’t call it writer’s block. New ideas for posts come to mind regularly. I write them in my head and jot them down in my book of ideas. I just can’t sit myself down to flesh them out. And when I do work on stories, I can’t seem to finish them.
Emotional overload
To be fair to myself, I have carried a heavy load for a very long time. Transitioning my dad to a retirement home last fall and selling his belongings and house this summer was way more stressful than I’d anticipated. As spring came into bloom this year, my mourning for Paul grew more intense, and I couldn’t kick off the heavy blanket of sadness that weighed me down with greater frequency.
Lack of adequate sleep and regular exercise left me with little physical energy beyond my daily responsibilities. With nothing left of myself to give, I had no desire to interact with most people and zero creative energy.
Listening for direction
Frightened by my fragility and feeling too vulnerable to risk sharing my struggle with people too close to be objective, I sought the counsel of a therapist. She helped me to see that it is not uncommon for grief to become more intense as time passes. And rather than feeling bullied by grief or shamed by guilt from thoughts like “I should be over this by now,” she encouraged me to let go of unrealistic expectations — mine or others — for my healing. She made it clear that I needed to cut me some slack and take whatever time I needed to recover.
She also shocked me with a diagnosis of severe depression, which, ironically, gave me some hope. I wasn’t losing my mind, and I wasn’t a loser for feeling stuck. Naming my malady provided validation for all the sorrow I felt and gave me permission to feel the grief rather than to push it away.
Encouragement along the way
Fortunately, I was also sharing my struggles with God during this time, praying as best I could, reading scripture and journaling. I found encouragement in God’s word and took comfort in feeling God’s nearness to me.
At the same time, I found a helpful website called Lifehack that spoke to me about developing better time management skills and ditching bad habits that were dragging me down. I began to see that I had some control over my state of mind, that there were steps I could take to find a better rhythm for my life.
A week after we closed on the house sale, I took a short vacation up north along the Lake Michigan shoreline with my daughters and sister. The further I drove away from home – singing along with the delightfully upbeat Mama Mia II soundtrack – the more I felt myself relax. Time in the sun at the beach, wandering through shops and absorbing the festive atmosphere in nearby towns was healing.
Following the signposts
All these things — wise counsel, insights from scripture and time away — served as lighted signposts directing me along a path I could barely see. By September, the fog of depression began to lift a little, and I could see more clearly what I could do to get moving again.
I began by declaring myself on sabbatical from any freelance work that doesn’t engage me. I’ve made it a priority to get more sleep, be more active, and eat healthier more often than not.
Best of all, I am doing what successful writers tell struggling writers to do. I am writing as soon as I wake up each day for an hour. The practice has made a big impact on relieving the guilt I often feel about not writing. And because I am writing without the pressure of publishing, I’m not battling my judgmental inner editor as much.
Making progress
The demands on my time remain. The reality of my life without Paul continues to grieve me, and sadness still gets the best of me some days. But I am more hopeful more often now. There is light on the road before me, and I am walking toward it one step at a time.
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I’d love to hear your story
What about you? Have you ever felt like you’re drowning in a sea of emotions? What has helped you to get psychologically unstuck?
