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Writing to light my way out of a mental fog
I used to write every morning, without fail. I would wake up, grab a glass of water or tea, feed my cats, and before checking email, social media, even texts, I would sit down to write. It felt empowering and freeing because I was really in control of my life and doing what I wanted to be doing. I was doing the things that writers do, not just saying that I was a writer, but actually being one.
It’s been a few years since that time now. In between, I changed jobs three times, moved across the country twice, got married, bought a house, oh yeah, and lived through a pandemic. Let’s just say, my routine is not what it used to be. The past several years have both been exciting and chaotic. Somehow, I have had more hours to write, but less brain space to actually write. Is that what burnout is?
During this time, I have still considered myself a writer. I did write some things for work (like grant proposals, parts of a textbook), and I have been doing a lot of editing of student work. But if I’m honest, I wasn’t writing for me. And I certainly wasn’t writing the things I really want to write: books about soil, stories, reflections, and motivational articles. In that sense, I haven’t really been writing much for several years.
That’s where the problem is. The identity I hold (writer) and my actions (not writing) are out of…
