I’ve been writing again over the last few days, as I start work on the edits for my novel.
Before this, it’s been a while.
With a busy day job hoovering up a lot of time and energy, along with crowdfunding, and various other things, actual writing began to slip away from me.
I knew it was making a difference to my mental wellbeing, but I hadn’t realised until this week just how much I was feeling the loss.
I can struggle with negative thoughts and emotions, but writing has always given me an outlet for them. To write well I need to feel some of those emotions; I purposefully try to evoke sadness, or pain, because it makes me feel most connected to life and helps me to understand other people and their stories.
When I write, I channel those feelings onto the page and I end up with something positive. I can tidy away the laptop and feel a powerful sense of self, of rightness.
But without that, those feelings had been left to fester.
I’ve been battling with myself and the cruel voice in my head that tells me things aren’t going well, that I’m not enough.
Writing makes me feel like my best self. It makes me remember that this is the life I want: creative, connected, inspired.