Why Now?
Writing My Way Back to Me
So, here’s the thing: I’ve never been “a writer.” I never journaled or kept a diary. English was definitely not my favorite subject in school; I loved math and science more. I hated essays with writing prompts, but loved reading fiction novels. I played sports, but also loved art and music. Like so many of us, the things I once loved just sort of disappeared from my life as I grew up. I was consumed with graduating from high school, getting into a good college, surviving my classes, taking on leadership roles in extracurricular activities, going to graduate school, pivoting from one career path to the next, when all of the sudden…I woke up.
I described it to my therapist as it feels like I’ve been running, sprinting, for over a decade. Running at full speed, heart pounding, gasping for breath, when all of a sudden I slammed my heels into the dirt and skidded to a stop. I was running so hard that it took time for the cloud of dust to settle back to the earth. And once it did, I took a look around and had absolutely no idea where I was. I looked behind me to see where I came from, scanned my surroundings to see if there was a path forward or sideways, and didn’t recognize any landmarks. I thought, “How in the world did I get here?”
The life I had lived, the paths I had followed, were unrecognizable. I had spent so long doing what was considered the smart and logical thing to do, ignored my interests, and convinced myself I was doing what I wanted to do because I walked through doors that were held open to me by authority figures in my life I trusted and looked up to for guidance. Don’t get me wrong, I have loved many of my decisions in life and enjoyed many of the experiences I have gained. However, I am disappointed in myself for not listening to my inner self, for not trusting my capabilities enough to move forward in my own way. I, the too-sensitive Pisces, the soft and malleable middle-child, the aggregable people-pleaser, the anxiety-riddled high achiever, let myself believe I would not be loved, would not be enough, if I did not accomplish what everyone else put in front of me.
The cure for this ailment? Well, unfortunately, it takes a lot of self-reflection and a lot of deep emotional work to put language to the feelings, inner monologue, and anxiety-fueled fears. And that’s only the first step! Who would have thought that just recognizing and being able to articulate what you’re feeling would take so much energy!? Not to mention what comes next with the work to actually re-frame those deep-rooted fears, to try to stop the spirals as they are happening. And even when that’s all said and done, you’re still left with, “So what now? What do I do with my life now??”
Once you’re free of the most crippling anxious voices, you can finally see that the world is your oyster. You can do anything you want! The imaginary rules you’ve been living by don’t exist. The creed you’ve so blindly followed can be questioned. The cage you unknowingly locked yourself in is wide open. But now another stifling realization hits: there are too many damned doors! I don’t know about you, but when I’m presented with too many options, it activates my freeze response. So here I am, a fresh 30-year-old, 5 years after quitting my chemistry graduate program, 2 years after moving to a new (albeit beautiful) location away from friends and family, and 6 months after leaving another career path with still no effing idea what to do. I’ve never felt so lost.
But let’s celebrate the small wins, shall we? My stress levels have decreased significantly from chronic to situational. The anxious voice in my head is a mere whisper that no longer requires music or alcohol to hush. I not only have the energy, but I am also interested in planning, trying new recipes, and cooking full meals for myself. The biggest win for that one is that I’m also not afraid of failing or cooking a meal that isn’t good. I cannot fully express how far I’ve come in this regard. When I was barely holding it together, and the amount of mental fortitude it took to actually cook something for myself, there was no way in hell I would ever risk it not being good enough to eat. I couldn’t. At that time, nothing was worse than spending what little energy and mental capacity I had left, only to be met with an inedible meal. Thinking about that time in my life still brings tears to my eyes…I truly have come so far.
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And since I’ve been able to feed myself and keep my stress levels low, the little things are starting to peek through. I feel in tune with my body again. I can feel when I’m hungry, thirsty, and need to move my body. I can feel when something speaks to my soul. This one is hard to explain, but I can notice things now. An example that comes to mind is when I was walking outside in the sunshine, feeling the warmth on my face, and I felt like the trees were speaking to me. Obviously, I don’t want to come off as crazy — though I am a self-proclaimed weirdo — I think that was the way my mind recognized the energy of nature around me, but it felt like they were swaying with the wind to say, “Welcome back, friend. We’ve missed you.” I tried watercolor painting again and picked up embroidery. I’ve actually been able to discern my clothing style and have been playing dress up with my closet. Getting dressed is fun now! I began reading again after a decade-long hiatus. Mostly gothic or whimsical romantic fantasy, which might explain the whole tree thing. I’ve very clearly always wanted to be a woodland fairy princess who lives in a hollowed-out tree with her animal friends.
All of this to say, I’ve been able to reflect on some ideas floating around in this never-ending whirlwind of thoughts in my brain. I’ve been able to hear a question louder than others: When something is lost, how do you find it? Step 1: Remember the last time you saw it. Step 2: Retrace your steps.
Following that logic, I am trying to remember the last time I enjoyed what I did and retrace my steps from there. I’ve tried the painting and the arts and crafts hobbies, but they haven’t stuck with me yet. I’ve taken a couple of courses to learn more about the craft beer and wine industry, just for funsies, because they interest me. I’ve been reading, like I mentioned, and it’s opened a dam within me. I just can’t seem to get enough. I forgot how books can make me feel. The more I read, the more I started to feel like myself again. The me that didn’t feel the need to hide or apologize for being herself, for her likes and dislikes, for her flower-child personality, for her sensitive and emotional nature.
Now the wheels are churning. Now I remember what I feel like. Now the question is: when was the last time I felt like this? When was the last time I didn’t feel the need to hide or apologize for who I was? And then it hit me. When I’m writing.
But wait…didn’t you say English wasn’t your favorite subject and you hated essays with writing prompts? Why yes, yes I did. Thank you for remembering! See, this is where all the hard work I’ve been doing in therapy is really starting to pay off. My brain has taken a few of my memories (disliking scientific writing, disliking writing a book report about Great Expectations, hating being forced to read and write things that didn’t interest me) and has convinced itself that I hate writing. But when I dig deeper, when I really pilfer through the dusty filing cabinet in my mind, I remember the writing competitions I participated in throughout elementary and middle school. I remember the 10 journal essays I had to write in my high school senior English class, where I could pick any topic I wanted the entire semester. I remember my psychology, sociology, and philosophy essays and research papers in college. I remember the feeling of dread while working on the scientific writings for my chemistry research classes, and the immense reprieve the self-reflection essays for my intersection courses gave me (Liberal Arts university, if you know you know). I was able to explore my interests, research topics I enjoyed, write what was on my mind, and found it all so absolutely easy! It was so easy and liberating to write when I was just being me.
In hindsight, I should have known I was headed down the wrong path. Especially when a fellow chemistry major told me scientific writing was way easier for her than the self-reflection essays, and my response was, “Really? I’m the opposite!” Like girlie, that should have been a huge indicator!! But alas, here we are 8 years, a crap ton of student loans, and many mental health issues later…better late than never, I suppose.
Which brings me back to Why Now? Believe it or not, the precise now is because of a few random YouTube videos I stumbled across that made the idea seem doable. Made the idea of starting to write seem less daunting with a “let’s just try it and see what happens” sort of attitude. The concept of being able to write anything I wanted was exhilarating, and oddly enough, did not activate my freeze response with the unlimited options that are available. It all seemed like a good indicator. See now, we’re listening to ourselves this time! Talk about learning from past mistakes, am I right?
But ultimately it comes down to this: I want to live out my simple fantasy of writing in coffee shops. I want to avoid spending all of my free time scrolling on social media. I want to feel like Carrie Bradshaw for a single moment. I want to remember my fleeting dreams of being a book editor or a writer for a magazine. I want to feel the pride and excitement I felt when 8-year-old me saw her writing competition essay published for the first time with the other winners from across the county. I want to take this never-ending chaos of thoughts and feelings in my mind and set them free. I want to feel like me again. And then maybe, just maybe, I’ll find what I’ve lost.
