A transparency piece shamelessly written for my own processing and shared here for those who may be struggling with something similar. If my junk can help someone else with their junk, that goes in the win column.
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It’s November.
How did that happen?
My gut wrenches when I look at my “production” for 2024.
Yesterday was January, and I had high hopes about word count, projects, and publications. I usually do a round-up for the last blog of the year. I likely won’t do that this year. I’m giving myself some grace and doing this post now instead.
Because this is also birthday month, and the thought of another “milestone” passing without tangible products feels like self-betrayal.
I’m a writer. I should be writing.
We’ve had all flavors of losses in the last 24 months—some expected and others devastating. But the words should eventually come, right? I’ve felt gumption, then… fizzle. Kick up the drive, then… another dip.
Climb the tree, only to fall out.
This blog keeps the writing alive. Checking in with writer friends keeps the writing going. Attended some workshops. I’ve produced a handful of short stories—several sold, and a few others earned Honorable Mention from Writers of the Future.
I finished one novel… Outlined two more. Grab for a low branch, start a manuscript, then… oooof.
I fall out of the tree.
My word count is nowhere near January’s aspirations, and advice/encouragement lands on tired, near-deaf ears.
I’m standing under the tree, waiting. And not patiently. Not calmly. Can’t even reach the bottom branch to climb back up.
So, I’ve taken a giant step back to evaluate. I’ve had to do this a lot this year.
Therapy has been a trip rivaling little Alice tumbling through the looking glass. Most every session, I’m told about patience (?!) and rest (??!!) and kindness (???!!!).
Self-kindness isn’t on my internal soundtrack. I typically crack the whip, overextend, guilt-trip, and expect too much too fast—especially after a challenging event. Evidently, “drill sergeant” is my go-to setting. So I don’t have to feel my feelings (insert huge eye-roll here).
Perhaps extend myself patience (that word again) and grace (AKA kindness). Rewiring an exhausted brain is a mentally exhausting process.
Maybe rest against the trunk instead of “chasing” an unmoving tree or jumping like a nut for limbs that are temporarily out of reach.
Hibernate, so to speak, for a hot minute and let things reset. The writing tree’s not going anywhere.
Through it all, though, an unintentional side-quest has manifested.
About fifteen, twenty years ago, I’d concluded my physical health was set in stone—lethargy, busted thyroid, weight issues, among other things. No progress would or could be made on that front despite my greatest efforts, so why bother?
I dropped a few pounds at the beginning of therapy, likely due to intense stress. My appetite tanked, and I may as well have fruit to keep body and soul together. My go-to comfort foods were making my stomach church.
I was stunned when I dropped a few more pounds and then fabulously flabbergasted when I hit what felt like “health” for the first time in my adult life. What a foreign sensation. And I had no idea how much Advil I was eating until I realized I’d not had any Advil in… weeks. My thyroid numbers have been more stable in the last twenty months than in the last 25 years.
Movement meant to burn off buzzing anxiety morphed into something I enjoyed. More movement, more feel-goods. More feel-goods led to different kinds of movement.
All this from addressing unseen, intangible issues—like all those decades’-old unfelt feelings (insert huge eye-roll here).
I tried yoga waaay before I was ready. The day job and dream job are both office-chair sedentary. Certain muscle groups have been completely ignored for years.
The woman on the “beginners” tutorial could twist herself into a pretzel and back again without blinking.
I blinked. Hard.
Landed on my face. Hard.
Like falling out of a very short tree. Hard.
A few months ago, I pulled up another set of beginner videos. Let’s try this again.
Back in the tree.
A couple weeks ago, I hit Day 3. (The twenty-minute videos for Days 1 and 2 took months. A very slow climb into the tree). The videos conclude with a Himalayan/Tibetan metal bowl tone. My sign that I might have reached Zen (what is this sensation?) and didn’t die, now, did I?
(I’ve got a theme lately with the Himalayan stuff—Salt Lamps, Yak Balls, Yoga Bells…)
Anyway, Day 3…
The poses start like Days 1 and 2. A few new moves, most of them on the mat.
This brings in Malachi Maxwell. When Mother’s on the ground, this kitty becomes overly concerned and must “help.”
(Malachi can’t even with dingers, alarms, or ringers, bolting down the hall lest these noises signify a scary thing and not Zen. I try to catch the dingers before they ding for the cat’s mental well-being.)
With Malachi walking over my rib cage and across my legs, the new moves are a challenge. I suppose people pay good money to do yoga with goats, right? I can manage with a cat.
At this rate, I assume Day 3 may take four months… but it’s a tree I think I can stay in.
Back upright, toward the end… Tree Pose is introduced. Stand on one foot, second foot tucked against the oppositive leg, arms stretched above, and balance.
“Focus on a spot on the wall if you feel wobbly,” the pretzel woman says.
I feel wobbly.
I find a spot. Try to focus. Malachi, happy Mother is standing now, decides the grounded leg needs a hug. He aggressively bumps and brushes, causing more wobbles.
My raised foot hits the mat at the exact time the instructor says, “Don’t worry if you fall out of the tree; you can just come right back.”
I try to come back, but I’m laughing too hard and my tired muscles do not want to become—or hang out in—a tree.
I rewind the video. Try this pose again with the same results. Malachi gives leg-hugs, Mother falls out of the tree just as the instructor says, “Don’t worry if you fall out of the tree; you can come right back.”
We could be in this loop forever, so I let the video play through.
Back down to the floor for a final stretch, and Malachi yowls from my shoulders, confused and concerned that Mother is once again on the ground. She should’ve stayed in the tree.
Then it happens. We’re done. Here comes the ding…
Cat on my head, mushy muscles and I cannot get off the floor in time to reach the pause button.
The metal Himalayan bowl sings its finale.
Malachi vaults from my shoulders, runs the length of my body with razor toes out, and flees down the hall, taking a few drops of my blood and what little Zen I’d achieved with him.
The poor kitty can’t even…
But that’s okay. We all can’t even sometimes.
Malachi will emerge from hiding once he’s reset. He can come right back to being a cat, even if he’s a bit wobbly.
It’s okay to be wobbly. Find a spot to focus on. Don’t worry if you fall out of the tree; you can just come right back…
If you’re in a season of healing and rewiring, be kind to yourself.
Lean your back against the trunk. Breathe. Rest.
Hibernate, even.
The tree isn’t going anywhere.
You can come right back…
