You know when you’re procrastinating about doing that thing that you want to do instead of actually just getting on and doing it? Yeah that universal and aged chestnut. If only I were as focussed on the task as I am at making excuses and justifications, I’d probably have finished a novel by now. My personal project productivity has waxed and waned for my entire life. And that’s OK, there have been myriad reasons. But in the past few years I have really tried to take my writing more seriously, lest I run out of time. And then chronic illness came along and really ruined the party for me.
I did reach a fairly impressive level of output early last year. I was posting weekly pieces on my Substack, I never know what to call them. Articles? Essays? Blog posts? None of those seem quite right. Regardless what the label is, I was faithfully bashing out 1000-2000 words every week. I enjoy having a deadline, a framework. It helps the chaotic and distractable mouse inside my brain stay in line. I got a hit of dopamine every time I achieve my self imposed goals and once I had established my stride I came to relish and cherish my dedicated writing day, Wednesdays. I wrote about it in an earlier post On Wednesdays . As I read back over it now I can see how much my life has changed in such a short time. How much less capacity I now have. It happens so insidiously it is not until one looks back in comparison that one realises.
As I write this now I ponder if this recognition of past achievement is actually a barrier. I feel a great stab in my heart as I recall my carefree days where I would get up and wander about without much of a plan, and that would not result in having complete cognitive shutdown and having to rush home to bed without even completing the errands I was embarking on. It hurts to remember what my life was like a mere 16 months ago. I feel grief, sudden urgent and devastating grief. Which I was not planning on, having woken feeling so positive and carefree this morning. I am reluctant now to look back, but if we do not look back and process at least some of these feelings they will only fester and re-emerge at a more inconvenient time.
So how to move forward? I came here to reflect on why I want to write so much yet struggle to get it done, for it is not all about the chronic illness. Why do I not just give up if it is so difficult? Instead of feeling bad about not achieving anything, I could just let it go. But I don’t. I remain determined. “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past” reads the closing line of The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald. One of my most favourite novels due to the exquisite language used to tell the story. Chronic illness often feels like rowing against the current while all around you cruise and float. I do still persevere, do still dream of succeeding at writing, as I do of returning to full health. How can I turn my little boat around and find some plain sailing, with aid from the current? Why do I find myself looking back all the time instead of forward?
I was reflecting on this last week as I composed myself some writing commitments. I have done these before but they needed some serious updating to match my current capacity. I agreed with myself to write for one hour on non working days. I did not specify any word count nor restrict myself to any specific project or medium, simply spend an hour writing. If my symptoms prevent me from managing this I can choose an alternative task which might be reading or watching something inspiring, taking a few notes for research or just doing a writing exercise. Maybe I will need to skip it entirely because I need to fully rest, or maybe I will have an appointment or something which will make it unlikely I can keep my commitment, but I can in these circumstances at least write a reflection on why I have not managed it. And that might be only one sentence, even one word. The reflection is a way to keep oneself accountable.
In addition I made a friend online, a fellow writer who has chronic illness and therefore understands the mighty balancing act required to keep this shit up. We have agreed to gently and compassionately keep each other accountable to our personal writing commitments each week. We compared reward systems and procrastination techniques. It was healthy and beautiful.
She told me she had purchased some writing socks. This concept appealed to me, a dedicated pair of footwear, a uniform if you will. Something to help the mindset, a writing talisman. I was picturing austere and serious grey cotton socks decorated with inspiring Virginia Woolf quotes or embroidered quills. To my surprise they were the softest, fluffiest, bluest and most joyful pair of foot coverings I have ever laid eyes on, and now obviously I want some writing socks. Well I promised myself I could have them as a reward when I finished this piece. So obviously I was out of bed at 0500 this morning in order to write.
That’s not entirely true. I did get up at 0500, but that’s just what time I wake up. I did not get straight to it, I drank a lot of tea and greeted the morning sun slowly, but I was done by 0930. And I mean that in the sense that after one hour of creative writing I was quite exhausted and in need of a break. So that’s good to know, one hour is about my limit for a stint. I mean it’s a good job my day job doesn’t involve 8 hours straight of writing medical reports on a computer or anything. Eye roll emoji. And here I am this evening, back to edit and compete my piece for posting.
What a change it brought to my mindset to write first thing in the morning. I did not have the guilt hanging over me all day, that I should be writing and had not managed to. Everything else I did today was flavoured with this relaxed and fulfilled peace. So I need to add another commitment to my writing manifesto: prioritise writing earlier in the day. My energy is always best in the early part of the day, it always has been but I feel it now more than ever. I wake early and I fade as the day passes. Even if I take an afternoon nap, I never really return to that morning feeling. And this is all of course relative: when I say my energy is best first thing, it is still diminished in comparison to a healthy person, in comparison to my former self.
Because I know where this energy envelope is, I have a habit of doing errands earlier in the day while I am fresh, and telling myself I will write in the afternoon. But then I am too tired by the errand to write. But I should be prioritising writing earlier in the day. Errands can be done later on autopilot, or not done at all, or done online or with help, or whatever. Writing needs to travel up the hierarchy of needs so that I can feel some sense of achievement in my life. Living with ME/CFS means a lot of balancing and prioritising, which ironically is quite hard work, and thus takes a long time to get one’s head around. But I am very happy when I do find things which work for me. What works for you?
Anyway, I’m off to buy some writing socks.