I’ve been really resisting my writing lately.
When that happens, it’s usually a sign I’ve made the process too hard – harder than it needs to be – probably by creating too many rules or expectations for myself, instead of just letting it happen.
I’ve been using motherhood as an excuse, saying I’m too tired, too overwhelmed, too busy. ‘Excuse’ is definitely the right word. I’ve been using other excuses too: I don’t know what to write about, the writing isn’t any good, I’m just not in the mood, it’s not like it’s going to go anywhere anyway.
I’ve journaled about the writing, thought about the writing, talked about the writing – even painted about the writing. I’ve reorganised and tidied the house, shopped for books online, researched new recipes, watched reality baking shows on TV and had many naps.
In short: I’ve done everything to avoid writing.
But in doing so, I’ve just become more resistant, more afraid to write. I’m resisting writing even more.
Now, I know there’s only one thing for it: to write.
You see, I’d forgotten one of the basic steps to writing: start where you are, with what you have. So, okay. Here I am: in the space of resistance, and I’m over it. And what do I have? My own experience, right now, of resisting, of wanting to write anyway, of finding a way through the fog.
And so, I write.