My first official blog post as a writer is, ironically, a post about not writing. Because that’s what I’ve been doing for the past month. In the middle of a year dedicated to launching my career by way of ambitious goals and a breakneck writing schedule, I was sidelined for a month by the fruit of that ambition—a whopping case of self-neglect.
Like many other writers, I have a family and a life that demands a majority of my time be spent doing things that are not writing. And, like a lot of moms, I often end up putting myself at the end of the line, whether it’s for breakfast or shoe shopping or sleep. And I thought I was getting away with it. Many of my days began with feeding kids, fixing their lunches and getting them off to school, followed by a six hour writing marathon where I would be curled up sideways in a chair, forgetting to eat and rarely getting any exercise. I drank a lot of coffee, stressed about deadlines and hunted for grammar and spelling errors for hours while hunched over a laptop at my kitchen table.
And I told myself I was simply doing what I had to do if I wanted to be a full time writer. Sacrifice! Work hard! Produce! Agonize! Repeat!
Except that this process ended up breaking me. It has not only sidelined me as a writer, but as a mom, though I can’t claim to be quite as upset about not being able to wash my dishes or fold my laundry. Read More