Once I’d decided that I was going to challenge myself to write each day, the scale of it made me pause. Am I up to writing a whole blog post every single day, when I’ve barely had the mental bandwidth or energy to write once a month for the past 10 months? Wouldn’t I be better off with something a bit easier, say a return to once a week posting, like when I started? It’s funny how quickly the protective voices pipe up and shut things down. To keep them happy I made a list of all the ideas for blog posts I’d had recently, as well as ransacking my notebooks for older ideas that never went anywhere. But it barely got me to 20 posts, let alone 31, and I felt strongly that I needed to have each day planned out.
Of course, this was never going to work for me. It’s not how I do things at all – I don’t tend to plan a theme for a blog post, my newsletter or a new resource. Instead I feel compelled to write by something I’ve heard, something a client says in a session, something I’ve read. And this will start me off connecting the dots between ideas or experiences, things half remembered or immediate concerns. I often write quickly and with minimal editing. And the text that emerges feels right for that moment. How odd, then, that I would think of controlling this process so much – except that is exactly what I do when I feel under pressure or anxious.
When I feel doubt in myself and my work I don’t trust myself as much. I forget to recognise the evidence of past experiences, the things that show me that I will be ok. Instead of recognising that I always find a way to do the work I need to, even if it’s not exactly how I imagined it would be, it’s like I’ve never met me and I need to micromanage myself. I forget to honour the things I’ve learnt about myself and how I work best, the difficult inner work I’ve done over the past 10 years, and instead I listen to generic advice about productivity or marketing written without empathy or humanity. And so, that is how I found myself constructing blog post ideas with rubbish titles like ’10 things you probably don’t know about me’ or wondering if I could get away with a couple of listicles. Not exactly inspiring (for me or for you).
I’ve ditched the plan. But I’ve kept the list of ideas. Who knows, each day something might call to me and I’ll find the beginning of the day’s post in those notes. Today, however, is a freeform day; none of the notes seemed to fit. I wonder how to talk about all the things on my mind, because my anxiety is through the roof about the American election. And the weird thing is, I can probably sum it up with 3 of the ’10 things you probably don’t know about me’…
1. When I was thirteen my family moved to the US.
[We lived in a regular Midwestern town and I went to a fairly typical high school. Although I came back to England to do my GCSEs and A Levels, my family stayed there in various forms for years and I spent every summer there until I was 20. To say those were formative years is a bit of an understatement.]
2. I’m a highly sensitive person/empath.
[Up until recently I didn’t even know this was a thing. I just assumed that the sensitivities I’ve had since I was a kid, the way I notice things about the world and experience it with heightened senses, these things were just foibles or difficulties to overcome. Turns out they’re not. I am easily disturbed by things (violence, sexual violence, suffering) which means I have to be really careful about what I watch. I also tend to absorb the emotion of a situation, which is lovely when people are feeling excited and energetic, but less fun when they are agitated, stressed or in pain.]
3. I am a pessimist.
[This could be a surprise if you mostly know me in a work context. When it comes to creativity and the possibilities for makers/artists I’m hugely optimistic. But for everything else I have a tendency to expect the worst and to see the risk in everything. Perhaps it won’t surprise you to hear that when I took the Enneagram test I was a 6?]
Where does this leave me today? Feeling exhausted after 4 years of this administration and disappointed that some people still can’t see Trump for what he is. Clinging desperately to the hope that the world can change, that my belief in the inherent goodness and kindness of people isn’t wrong, and yet suspecting that it will all turn out so badly. Needing to maintain some control by watching YouTube videos and scrolling through Instagram, to keep up with what’s going on, but unable to defend myself against the deep-felt emotions I witness there. Remembering how it felt 4 years ago, and how I was that person crying on the Tube the next morning when the results were in. Knowing that this has been a long year, a tough year, and that it’s not nearly over, even if the results come back the way I hope. Wondering, will I have the strength to pick myself up and continue if things don’t work out. Knowing that I’ve learnt a lot about myself recently and how I want to be in the world. Accepting that I have something to contribute to the change. Acknowledging that despair really isn’t an option anymore.