I’m all about full disclosure. At the time I took a break from writing, I honestly didn’t think I would ever come back to it again.
The strangest thing was happening to me. Let me back up a little. I had just had my daughter and seeing that gorgeous little thing, I made a declaration. I would put everything in me toward fulfilling my dream of becoming a full-time writer. I wanted to be an example for my daughter.
This also just happened to coincide with a little postpartum depression. I of course just thought it was the baby blues. It wasn’t like it was that full-blown postpartum psychosis. Because you know, as I was told – those were my two choices. (what a joke)
I wrote for a while, joined writing groups, really started making connections. It was fun. Then I had another baby and moved into a new house and SO MANY changes. Now I’m still kind of writing, but mostly not sleeping. And after a while it was becoming clear that something wasn’t right. My fear of pretty much anything outside of my house was growing at an alarming rate. The car was a particularly fearful place. No matter if I was driving or being driven. Aside from the grocery store, I basically stopped going out. Those seven miles were the best I could do on my own. My world was shrinking fast.
Once enough was enough, I did the thing I was supposed to do; I went to see my doctor. I got the medicine. And that was good for a while. I even won NaNoWriMo that year for the first time. So exciting! I was on fire. I made the announcement I was going to publish RynRaven. I made a plan for all the rest of my stories.
What I didn’t realize at the time was something insidious was happening. I was going out; I was getting my life back- but my desire to write was fading. I began putting off my writing just a little every day. Then, as the desire to write diminished, it was being replaced with resentment. I started to hate writing. I hated all my stories. I hated looking at a blank page. I even hated the IDEA of writing.
And like Nina did in the beginning of RynRaven when she dropped her weapons and walked away from her life, I dropped my pen and walked away from writing. I boxed up everything, my notes, notebooks, writing books–everything. I put it all away.
Once I realized my passion for life was now being damaged by the medicine, I started seeking alternative therapies and ideas. And then my Dad passed away, and that was the moment everything changed. I knew there had to be MORE.
I stumbled upon the spiritual community–you can read more about that here-. And my awakening started. If you’ve had an awakening, you know that it’s not all rainbows, light, and sunshine. It’s taking a cold hard look at everything I thought I knew, my mindset, my beliefs (or lack thereof), everything I thought was true was nothing but a façade. A wall of ideas and feelings that closed me off to what was possible.
It took two years.
And a couple of false starts
I recently learned back when I set out to be a writer–I was going about it for the wrong reasons. I was doing all the things everyone else said I was supposed to do. I was writing to sell, trying to fit into a box that, frankly, wasn’t me.
Now, I’m reclaiming my truth. My way of writing. My stories. And the fun came back. My passion for writing in bloom.
Because screw the box. I’m writing the stories I want to write; I am not writing for the market; I’m not writing what is trendy. I will never ‘sell’ my soul again. I’m making my own rules and if people resonate with my worlds, AMAZING, if not, C’est la vie! I’m writing for me.
Yes, I’ve had several panic attacks over the past few weeks, but I have learned how to manage those. I no longer seek to deny them. They are my teachers. They tell me–hey, Vicki, you’re doing something that doesn’t make you feel good. I tune in and I listen. Mine are often preceded by an oversaturation of the color around me. So, I get quiet. Either with breathing exercises or I try to meditate–I say try because meditation isn’t the easiest thing to do during a panic attack. Usually, I’m too amped up to sit and quiet my mind.
One particularly difficult panic attack I had a few weeks ago required two guided meditations before I could get a handle on it–and let me tell you what happened–I had a massive breakthrough on one of my stories. And the creativity just poured out of me. It was beautiful. The scenes and pacing of a scene were something I could hardly believe was sitting up in my mind.
Now I listen. And then I write. It’s who I am. I could say to myself–why oh why did I almost quit? But guess what? Regret gets me nowhere. Regret keeps me beholden to a past that replays over and over in my mind. I let it be exactly what it was meant to be – a lesson.
I Acknowledge it, love it, and transform it into whatever it is I want to be next.
