Rehab for writing injuries
Youâve heard of âmaking writing a habit,â and youâve tried, but the pressure to write fills you with horrible pain and dread. You spend all your time wishing you could write but somehow never writing. The âmake it a habitâ approach doesnât work for you. But you still want to write, maybe even regularly. Is there nothing you can do?
Here is an alternative approach to try. A rehab program, as it were, for writers with a psychological âwriting injuryâ that has destroyed their desire to write and replaced it with shame, anxiety and dread.
If you have a writing injury, you probably acquired it by being cruel to yourself, by internalizing some intensely critical voice or set of rules that crushes your will to write under the boot-heel of âyou should.â âYou should be writing better after all the years of experience youâve had.â âYou should be writing more hours a day, youâll never get published at this rate.â âYou should write more like [Hilton Als/Jeffrey Eugenides/Octavia Butler/Terry Pratchett/etc.].â âYou should write faster/more/better/etc./etc.â
You know what, though? Fuck all that. Self-abuse may have featured heavily in the cool twentieth-century writerâs lifestyle, but we are going to treat ourselves differently. Because 1) itâs nicer, and 2) frankly, it gets better results. My plan here is to help you take the radical step of caring for yourself.
1) First of all: ask yourself why you arenât writing.Â
Not with the goal of fixing the problem, butâŚjust to understand. For a moment, dial down all of the âgoddammit, why canât I just write?â blaring in your head and be curious about yourself. Clearly, you have a reason for not writing. Humans donât do anything for no reason. Try to discover what it is. And be compassionate; donât reject anything you discover as ânot a good enough excuse.â Your reasons are your reasons.
For me, writing was painful because I wanted it to solve all my problems. I wanted it to make me happy and whole. I hated myself and hoped writing would transform me into a totally different person. When it failed to do that, as it always did, I felt like shit.
Maybe writing hurts because youâve loaded it with similarly unfair expectations. Or maybe youâre a victim of low expectations. Maybe people have told you youâre stupid or untalented or not fluent enough in the language you write in. Maybe writing has become associated with painful events in your life. Maybe youâve just been forced to write so many times that you can no longer write without feeling like someoneâs making you do it. Writing-related pain and anxiety can come from so many different places.
2) Once you have some idea of why youâre not writingâŚjust sit with that.
Donât go into problem-solving mode. Just nod to yourself and say, âyes, thatâs a good reason. If I were me, I wouldnât want to write either.â Have some sympathy for yourself and the pain youâre in.
3) NowâŚkeep sitting with it. Thatâs it, for the moment. No clever solutions. Just sympathize. And, most importantly, grant yourself permission to not write, for a while.
Itâs okay. You are good and valuable and worthy of love, even when you arenât writing. There are still beautiful, true things inside of you.
Hereâs the thing: itâs very hard for humans to do things if they donât have permission not to do them. Itâs especially hard if those things are also painful. We hate feeling trapped or compelled, and we hate having our feelings disregarded. It shuts us down in every possible way. You will feel more desire to write, therefore, if you believe you are free not to write, and if you believe itâs okay not to do what causes you pain.
(By the way: not having permission isnât the same as knowing there will be negative consequences. âIf I donât write, I wonât make my deadlineâ is different from âIâm not allowed not to write, even if it hurts.â One is just awareness of cause and effect; the other is a kind of slavery.)
4) For at least a week, take an enforced vacation from writing, and from any demands that you write. During this time, you are not permitted to write or give yourself grief for not writing.Â
This may or may not be reverse psychology. But itâs more than that.
Think of it as a period of convalescence. Youâre keeping your weight off an injury so it can heal, and whatâs broken is your desire to write. Pitilessly forcing yourself to write when itâs painful, plus the shame you feel when you donât write, is what broke that desire. So, for a week (or a month, or a year, or however long you need) tell yourself you are taking a doctor-prescribed break from writing.
This will feel scary for some folks. You might feel like youâre giving up. You might worry that this break from writing feels too good, that your desire to write might never return. All I can say is, Iâve been there. Iâve had all those fears and feelings. And the desire to write did return. But you gotta treat it like a tiny crocus shoot and not stomp on it the second it pokes its little head up. Like so:
5) Once you feel an itch to write againâonce you start to chafe against the doctorâs ordersâyou can write a tiny bit. Only five or ten minutes a day.Â
Thatâs it. Iâm serious: set a timer, and stop writing when the timeâs up. No cheating. (WellâŚmaybe you can take an extra minute to finish your thought, if necessary.)
Remember: these rules are not like the old rules, the ones that said, âyou must write or you suck.â These rules are a form of self-care. You are not imposing a cruel, arbitrary law, you are being gentle with yourself. Not âeasyâ or âsoftââany Olympic athlete will tell you that hard exercise when youâve got an injury is stupid and pointless, not tough or virtuous. If you need an excuse to take care of yourself, thatâs it: if youâre injured, you canât perform well, and aggravating the injury could take you out of the competition permanently.
For the first few days, all of the writing you do should be freewriting. Later, you can do some tiny writing exercises. Donât jump into an old project you stalled out on. Think small and exploratory, not big and goal-oriented. And whatever you do, donât judge the output. If you have to, donât even read what you write. This is exercise, not performance; this is you stretching your atrophied writing muscles, not you trying to write something good. At this stage, it literally doesnât matter what you write, as long as you generate words. (Frankly, it would be kind of weird and unfair if your writing at this point was good.)
6) After a week, you can increase your time limit if you want. But only a little!Â
Spend a week limiting yourself to, say, twenty minutes a day instead of ten. When in doubt, set your limit for less than you think youâll need. You want to end each writing session feeling like you could keep going, not like youâre crawling across the finish line.
Should you write every day? Thatâs up to you. Some people will find it helpful to put writing on their calendar at the same time each day. Others will be horribly stifled by that. You get to decide when and how often you write, but two things: 1) think about what you, personally, need when you make that decision, and 2) allow that decision to be flexible.
Remember, the only rule is, donât go over your daily limit. You always have permission to write less.
And keep checking in with yourself. Remember how this program began? If something hurts, if your brain is sending you âI donât wannaâ signals, respect them. Investigate them, find out what their deal is. You might decide to (gently) encourage yourself to write in spite of them, but donât ignore your pain. You are an athlete, and athletes listen to their bodies, especially when theyâre recovering from an injury. If writing feels shitty one day, give yourself a reward for doing it. If working on a particular project ties your brain in knots, do a little freewriting to loosen up. And always be willing to take a break. You always have permission not to write.
7) Slowly increase your limit over time, but always have a limit.Â
And when youâre not writing, youâre not writing. You donât get to berate yourself for not writing. If you find yourself regularly blazing past your limit, then increase your limit, but donât set large aspirational limits in an effort to make yourself write more. In fact, be ready to adjust your limit lower.
When it comes to mental labor, after all, more is not always better. Apparently, the average human brain can only concentrate for about 45 minutes at a time, and it only has about four or so high-quality 45-minute sessions a day in it. Thatâs three hours. So if you set your daily limit for more than three hours, you may be working at reduced efficiency, when youâd be better off saving up your ideas and motivation for the next day. (Plus, health and other factors may in fact give you less than 3 good hours a day. Thatâs okay!)
Of course, if youâre a professional writer or a student, external pressures may force you to write when your brain is tired, but my point is more about attitude: constant work is not necessarily better work. So donât make it into a moral ideal. We tend to think that working less is morally weak or wrong, and thatâs bullshit. Taking care of yourself is practical. Pushing yourself too hard will just hurt you and your writing. Also, your feelings are real and they matter. If you ignore or abuse them, youâll be like a runner trying to run on a broken ankle.
I know Iâm going to get someone who says, âif youâre a pro, sometimes you gotta ignore your feelings and just get the work done!âÂ
NO.Â
You can, of course, choose to work in spite of any pain youâre feeling. But ignore that pain at your peril. Instead, acknowledge the pain and be compassionate. Forgive yourself if pain slows you down. You are human, so donât hold your feet to the fire for having human limitations. Maybe a deadline is forcing you to work anyway. But make yourself a cup of hot chocolate to get you through it, literally or metaphorically. Help yourself, donât force yourself. If youâve had a serious writing injury, that shift in attitude will make all the difference.Â
In short: treat yourself as someone whose feelings matter.
Try it out! And let me know how it goes!
Ask a question or send me feedback!
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âGettingâ yourself to write
Yesterday, I was trawling iTunes for a decent podcast about writing. After a while, I gave up, because 90% of them talked incessantly about âself-discipline,â âmaking writing a habit,â âgetting your butt in the chair,â âgetting yourself to write.â To me, thatâs six flavors of fucked up.
Okay, yesâI see why we might want to âmake writing a habit.â If we want to finish anything, weâll have to write at least semi-regularly. In practical terms, I get it.
But maybe before we force our butts into chairs, we should ask why itâs so hard to âgetâ ourselves to write. We arenât acting randomly; our brains say âI donât want to do thisâ for a reason. We should take that reason seriously.
Most of us resist writing because it hurts and itâs hard. Well, you say, writing isnât supposed to be easyâbut thereâs hard, and then thereâs hard. For many of us, sitting down to write feels like being asked to solve a problem that is both urgent and unsolvableââI have to, but itâs impossible, but I have to, but itâs impossible.â It feels fucking awful, so naturally we avoid it.
We canât âmake writing a habit,â then, until we make it less painful. Something we donât just âgetâ ourselves to do.
The âmake writing a habitâ people are trying to do that, in their way. If you do something regularly, the theory goes, you stop dreading it with such special intensity because it just becomes a thing you do. But my god, if youâre still in that âdreading itâ phase and someone tells you to âmake writing a habit,â that sounds horrible.
So many of us already dismiss our own pain constantly. If we turn writing into another occasion for mute suffering, for numb and joyless endurance, we 1) will not write more, and 2) should not write more, because we should not intentionally hurt ourselves.
Seriously. If you want to write more, donât ask, âhow can I make myself write?â Ask, âwhy is writing so painful for me and how can I ease that pain?â Show some compassion for yourself. Forgive yourself for not being the person you wish you were and treat the person you are with some basic decency. Give yourself a fucking break for avoiding a thing that makes you feel awful.
Daniel JosĂŠ Older, in my favorite article on writing ever, has this to say to the people who admonish writers to write every day:
Hereâs what stops more people from writing than anything else: shame. That creeping, nagging sense of âshould be,â âshould have been,â and âif only I hadâŚâ Shame lives in the body, it clenches our muscles when we sit at the keyboard, takes up valuable mental space with useless, repetitive conversations. Shame, and the resulting paralysis, are what happen when the whole world drills into you that you should be writing every day and youâre not.
The antidote, he says, is to treat yourself kindly:
For me, writing always begins with self-forgiveness. I donât sit down and rush headlong into the blank page. I make coffee. I put on a song I like. I drink the coffee, listen to the song. I donât write. Beginning with forgiveness revolutionizes the writing process, returns its being to a journey of creativity rather than an exercise in self-flagellation. I forgive myself for not sitting down to write sooner, for taking yesterday off, for living my life. That shame? I release it. My body unclenches; a new lightness takes over once that burden has floated off. There is room, now, for story, idea, life.
Writing has the potential to bring us so much joy. Why else would we want to do it? But first weâve got to unlearn the pain and dread and anxiety and shame attached to writingânot just so we can write more, but for our own sakes! Forget âmaking writing a habitââhow about âbeing less miserableâ? Thatâs a worthy goal too!
Luckily, there are ways to do this. But before I get into them, please absorb this lesson: if you want to write, start by valuing your own well-being. Start by forgiving yourself. And listen to yourself when something hurts.
Next post: freewriting
Ask me a question or send me feedback! Podcast recommendations welcomeâŚ
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Another aspect of the Gaza Genocide that I want to talk about is the complicity of Internet banking and crowdfunding websites like GoFundMe.
I have seen multiple Gazans raise enough money to leave for Egypt, but the banks and the crowdfunding websites freeze their money or cancel their funds for "suspicious activity" or whatever. Every day that passes in Gaza supplies get more scarce, conditions get more deadly, and the price to cross into Egypt gets more expensive. I've seen people, like ghost-90 here on Tumblr, raise the full amount to get their entire family out of Gaza, but their money gets frozen for so long that the original goal is only a fraction of the price now needed to cross the boarder.
These financial institutions should not be allowed to get away with contributing to the death toll in Gaza. They are intentionally keeping people trapped in a kill zone by withholding money that is rightfully theirs.
I'm so pissed and angry that every avenue for relief for Palestinians is being cut of left and right. It is vile that Gazans are being extorted for 10s of thousands of dollars by the Egyptian gov just to save their family's lives, but even when they play by this corrupt game, the world still finds a way to make them suffer.
My heart is with every Palestinian for the rest of time, from river to sea you will all be free. đľđ¸â¤ď¸
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