Project HeatherED

Live your happiest, healthiest, and emotionally wealthiest life

Tag: creative writing

The Writer’s Block Post (or why I’m giving my broken brain a break)

Writing is most definitely a skill. You write daily – at least, that’s the intention – and over time you become better at it. Even editing gets easier; the whole process speedier.

Persist with your practise a little longer, and eventually you find your own writing style. Something magical happens and you “sound like” you on the page.

It all sounds so romantic – and it is! When ^this^ happens, it’s the most wonderful feeling! This year I’ve fallen back in love with writing; I’m completely and utterly enamoured of it.

But like anything worth having, writing doesn’t always come easily.

Thus far I’m proud to have published here at least once a week. Oftentimes, I’ve simply shared a story around my weekly gratitudes, but I’ve kept my promise to myself – and you, my readers.

Regular posts have arisen naturally – I’m not holding myself to any publishing schedule. I haven’t needed to do so.

Writing itself makes me happy. It’s when I feel most connected with my “authentic self”; a “woo-woo” way of saying the version of me that feels most myself. Whether here on this blog, behind-the-scenes on my Google Drive, or on a scruffy piece of paper stuffed into my backpack, writing is how I sort through the contents of my mind. It slows down my thinking and brings me a sense of peace.

If that weren’t motivation enough, then there’s you – the reader. Sharing my story has created opportunities for connection that might otherwise have gone amiss. Relationships have grown – or in some cases, been rekindled – as a result of a single moment during which I felt brave enough to share Project HeatherED with the world. A world which, albeit, small, has grown exponentially, thanks to the power of the written word.

Which goes some way to explain my frustration of late at losing my publishing mojo. If you’re following along, you’ll likely be aware that I’m mid-mental meltdown. Held firmly by anxiety, and it’s close companion, depression, I’m not in the best frame of mind for making creative decisions. Writing – at least, writing for eyes other than my own – is its own challenge.

This beloved blog has therefore become something of a struggle. It feels like my broken brain is trying to break my heart, too, by keeping me from what brings me joy. I’m increasingly irritated when words won’t come, which ironically only makes things worse.

Like Keiko cat, I’m chasing my tail and getting nowhere quickly.

So after much internal debate, I’ve decided to give myself a bit of a break. Lift the pressure off. Like I said earlier, I’m not technically committed to regular publishing days or times, but I’m subconsciously setting standards. My perfectionist tendencies don’t need publication schedules to hold me to a habit. Used to writing weekly, my mind makes anything “other” feel like a failure.

Which is why I’m making a conscious decision not to publish here for the next month.
I recognise my need for clear boundaries if my brain is to relax, rest, and recover. Enforcing recovery, in a way, I hope will give me space and time recharge my mental batteries.

To do the actual work of recovery, rather than trying too hard to record the process as it happens.

It’s kind of missing the point, don’t you think?!

At the same time, I’ve literally just gone back to work. Five half-days, to be exact. I’m on “staged return”, which means I’m currently working part-time because my mental health issues leave me physically and emotionally drained. It takes a lot of energy to recover – yet another good reason to take it easy on myself.

And so I’m pressing pause on publishing posts. Just for a moment. I’ll take a few breaths, regroup, and come back better than before. I’ve a sneaking suspicion that, having decided to step back, my brain will step up a gear and find its way back to itself. I hope so. I’m kind of counting on it.

Because I love writing. Truly, I’m head-over-heels with the whole process! Beyond the mental peace writing brings, I’m creating honest, open-hearted connections with like-minded people like you. My world is bigger and brighter as a result.

Anyone who reads this blog will know how much it matters to me. It matters too much for me to ruin its magic by forcing myself to write when words aren’t forthcoming.

Which is why I’m hoping you’ll bear with me whilst I focus on recovering my mental health.

In the meanwhile, subscribe for my email updates by entering your address in the box at the top right of this page. You’ll be the first to know whenever there’s a new post on Project HeatherED. I’d also love you to connect with me over on Facebook.

I’ll be back soon to share more stories!

Heather
x

The Twenty-Second TWIG Post (or why we benefit by letting go of perfectionism and embracing a B-minus)

It dawned on me this week that I’ve a bit of a problem with publishing posts. 

As I write this there are precisely sixteen other articles languishing in my drafts, each in various stages of completion.

I’m the Queen of Drafts.

Behind the scenes of this blog, I’m writing more than ever. You’ll have to trust me when I say I’m writing my heart out.

Yet this clearly isn’t reflected in my rates of publications. Why?

One word: Perfectionismfullsizeoutput_609

It’s defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as a “refusal to accept any standard short of perfection”. (For anyone who lives under a rock, though even then you’re likely to worry about living under the “right” rock – ergo you already know what I’m talking about.)

In this particular situation my perfectionistic streak shows in my inability to craft my words to the level I’d like my writing to reach before I’m ready to share it with the world.

Apparently, I’m not alone in this quest for perfection. Reading Corbett Barr‘s post about how to “write epic sh*t” this week, I learnt that it takes “professional” bloggers far longer than I thought to write, edit, and publish posts.

What a relief! Knowing it can take Pat Flynn over eight hours to write a single blog post lifts at least some of the pressure off little ol’ me. If it takes time for the big-time bloggers to make stuff that matters, then it’s reasonable to expect it’ll take time for me, too. Therefore it’s probably pushing it to want to publish something long-form two or three (or more) times a week, plus put in the requisite hours for my full-time gig, and have enough time left over to take care of my body, brain, and boyfriend (in that order – sorry C).

Perhaps I’ve some rather unrealistic expectations for myself. Being a skeptical soul, I suspect it’s not only me who thinks this way.

Clearly, Steph Crowder of “Courage and Clarity” and “Fizzle” fame (in the world of  entrepreneurial podcasts) agrees. She recently wrote a Monday Motivation post in her Facebook group for female entrepreneurs about how what she terms “B-minus work” can change lives:

“If PERFECT is in your language, we gotta take it down SEVERAL notches.

Just. Show. Up. Give me your B- Work.”

Steph Crowder via Facebook

When it comes to us women (some blokes and non-binary persons, too, of course), what we as individuals deem our B-minus work – the stuff we’d label “acceptable” or at a push “good enough” rather than being ourtip-top best –  is often exactly what someone else needs to hear.

In case that doesn’t read too well, given my myriad mid-sentence interruptions, I’ll say it again:

When it comes to us women what we as individuals deem “acceptable work” is often exactly what someone else needs to hear.

In trying to achieve something “perfect” there’s at least a chance however small – we could be preventing someone from finding precisely the help, advice, or inspiration they need in exactly the right moment. Okay, so this isn’t scientifically proven per say, but I’d hedge my bets that most experts would agree with me on this one.  “Experts” being used here to refer anyone half-way intelligent who might ever have said something even slightly supporting the point I’m making here.

I’m a prime example of the problem at play here. I hold myself back because I believe that my writing’s not “good enough” yet for public consumption. Note here the words highlighted – in bolditalics, and underlined, in case you missed it.

In truth, my work is most likely already good enough. Even if it isn’t when I publish a post, then chances are I’d soon know about it and can make amends. You know, I can edit, rewrite, even delete if it’s that bad – or – wait for it – I can choose to let it be imperfect. Revelatory stuff indeed.

But no.

Instead, I continue to tell myself the same self-destructive story – that I’m not good enough, and anything I do inevitably won’t be good enough either. It’s a bit embarrassing to think that, in spite of this navel-gazing, I still make this mistake. It’s frustrating and disheartening to repeat the same errors.

And so I’m trying to become more comfortable with being a B-minus student sometimes, at least when it comes to writing. Easier said than done, I’m learning to let go and release my creative endeavours at least a little sooner. Hopefully, my efforts at getting comfy with being uncomfy will be rewarded when my words reach those who most need to read them.

Speaking of which, I better get on with my weekly dose of thankfulness while my writing’s still relevant!

 This Week I’m Grateful for:

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Guess where I was?!

TWIG #1: A Saturday afternoon out with C. Last weekend we went to Salts Mill, a former 19th Century industrial mill which now houses art, shops, and cafes at the heart of a model village in Saltaire, Bradford. It’s . After a quick stroll and a poke in a few antiques shops, C let me loose in what’s one of my most favourite bookshops.

Whenever we visit I come home with a new book or journal. This time, I ended up with both: “The Program” – young adult dystopian fiction by Suzanne Young – and two sketch books. I plan to use the latter for creative brainstorming, free of the constraints of their linear cousin, the notebook. Of course no day out would be complete without cake so we made time for tea.

TWIG #2: My growing confidence in my business competence.

(Try saying that when you’ve had a few!)

You likely know about my most recent mental meltdown, which makes everything more difficult, as depression is want to do. However this past week helped me see I’m more capable than I believed myself to be.

I’m from a business background, academically and professionally. Yet I’m reticent to declare myself expert in anything for fear of being “found out” lacking somehow. Like many other women I speak to, I’ve a chronic case of imposter syndrome, scared to step up and risk being seen for fear of public failure.

I’ve had enough of this self-doubt. So I’m intentionally collecting evidence to prove to myself that I’m already an intelligent professional. As you’ll see, I’ve gathered some examples already this week:

  • I’ve been consulting for a copy-editor – far further along in her entrepreneurial “journey” than I, sharing my ideas around content, copy, and design for her email opt-in.
  • I asked off-the-cuff questions during a Fizzle Friday coaching session, during which I was thanked by someone I admire for my contributions to the forum.
  • Other entrepreneurs have sought me out to specifically ask for my opinion on their business issues.

All of which shows that I have something of value to offer. The more I help othersthe more I recognise that I’m actually good at this stuff. Not only have I got a ton of relevant experience to share (I sometimes forget that I’m 34, not 14), but I’m also bringing my own creativity to the table. Somewhere down the line there’s potentially a business idea there, which feels super-exciting!

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K (left & back) and D (right at the front!)

TWIG #3: This utterly gorgeous photo of our cats!  They’d jumped onto the garage windowsill to steer clear of C reversing the car. They stayed put long enough for C to park up and then take this fantastic photo.

I think it captures their personalities perfectly. Typically cheeky, D’s pushed his way to the front. (He gets away with it for being so cute.) K is that bit more cautious, carefully contemplating things from a bit further back. She lets D think he’s getting his way, but it’s her slinky self that’s  actually in charge.

Unsurprisingly, this picture received the highest number of “likes” I’ve ever received for a picture on Facebook. If I wasn’t so enamoured of this pair, I’d probably take offence!

TWIG #4: The prospect of renovating our house is becoming real! Now we’ve nearly completed the sale of our old house we’ll soon have sufficient funds to start work.

I arranged for a builder to come give us a quote. Extremely chatty (I had been warned), he was enthusiastic about our ideas and advised us on the next steps. As such, we’ve since arranged for quotes from two window companies, a structural engineer, and a kitchen company in the coming weeks.

Best by far was our visit to a kitchen designer, who took C’s technical drawings (on squared paper, using laser measurements) and created a 3D-interpretation of my dream kitchen. Excitedly, it looks almost exactly how I imagined, which feels inspiring and motivating to move forward with making our dream home a reality.

TWIG #5: Going back to the gym. After a month’s hiatus (the first in four years or more), I checked my kit fit (it did!) and went to class last Tuesday. Turns out this wasn’t anywhere near as scary as I’d build it up to be in my head. I should have known; this is pretty much always the case with anxiety.

Still, it was a relief to keep pace with classmates, finishing on a bit of a high and feeling a hundred times better after class than before. Calorie-burning aside, I remembered why kept going to the gym in the first place. I’ve booked again for this Tuesday.

Okay, so I can’t take all the credit for getting back to the gym. There’s a chance I’d have headed home, except that my colleague F had coaxed me to class. She stood by my desk, waiting whilst I slowly shutdown my PC. Though having a bit of extra encouragement certainly helped me overcome my objections to exercise, I’m still proud of myself for making small steps in the right direction.

fullsizeoutput_608TWIG #6: Being able to feel loved by my family. That’s not a poorly-structured sentence (perhaps it is, but it’s not intentional) but is a genuine expression of gratitude on my part.

This is because depression disconnects. It puts up an invisible wall. When my mind is in a mess, this barrier between myself and others is especially impermeable. It’s hard for me to show love and it’s equally difficult for me to receive it. It’s painful on both accounts.

However since finding the right medication for me, I’m experiencing positive feelings much more often. This sounds dramatic, but anything that breaks through the kind of emotional numbness depression brings is nothing short of miraculous.

TWIG #7: I rescued a frog! 

Finally, on a far lighter note, I can proudly say I single-handedly rescued a frog this evening.

I heard the tell-tale chew toy squeak that I’ve learnt terrorised frogs make, so I rushed – okay, I was guilted off the sofa by C, who sent me out in my pyjamas – to the rescue! Our two ferocious felines had cornered the poor fella. Bravely, I shielded the frog with my bare hands until C came with an old ice-cream tub to transport our new friend safety to the neighbour’s pond.

I’ll conclude my gratitudes with this – my contribution to the safe-keeping of our local wildlife population!

x

The Teen Angst Post (or Ten Things I Hate About You, Depression)

By some twist of fate (or perhaps just C’s bad taste in telly), we ended up watching Mark Kermode’s Secrets of Cinema on BBC Four. Now, I’m not a fan of movie review shows. I prefer to make up my own mind about whether or not to watch something. Yet this show caught my attention because it was about the “Coming of Age” movie.

IMG_3333. Ever the emotional dramatist, my teenage self relates so deeply to the characters they portray I can’t help being pulled into their narrative. From those films I grew up watching (like “Clueless“, “The Craft“, and later, “Lost Boys“) to those I discovered and fell madly in love with in later life (most notably, “The Breakfast Club“), I’m stuck on these stories of growing up. They move me in a unique way, stirring emotions and memories long-since forgotten.

 

Like me, it seems like many of the stars in these particular films struggle with their mental health. Tragic tales of teen actors abound, many of whom find themselves in rehab before their twenty-first birthdays . Whilst some successfully recover in later life, some do not. I’m thinking specifically of talented young actors like Corey Haim, Heath Ledger, and Brittany Murphy. Despite their infinite potential, their internal pain far exceeded anything else. It’s uncomfortable to speak about suicide and addiction-related death, even on a mental health blog. However it’s important to acknowledge because their ending could easily have been my own had my life not taken a different turn.

Getting back to why I’m writing this long introduction for such a short post, rediscovering my love of teen films coincides with my own recent depressive episode. Embarassingly, and in the kind of dramatic terms we associate with teenagers (though in my experience, adults are as guilty as teens of this), I’m having a bit of a personal “creative crisis”. The more astute readers may have noticed that I’ve not yet published my weekly TWIG post, which is because I’m finding it hard to write just now.  Staring at my screen, shuffling words, I’m not getting anywhere fast. I’m putting the hours in, and publishing nothing – and it’s frustrating the hell out of me!

This weekend I decided put my writing woes aside and instead, sank into the world of a teenager, Mia, in a film I’d not yet seen. Namely, “Fish Tank” starring the fabulous Fassbender (AKA “Shark Teeth”, at least in my house).

Something clicked.

The wistful, twisted emotional discomfort I felt as I put myself into the shoes of the film’s protagonist did something to unlock my creativity.

I was suddenly and randomly inspired by the heart-wrenching poem at the heart of another fantastic film, “Ten Things I Hate About You“. This movie is a little more of the rom-com, albeit more of a black comedy than most. Still within the realms of teenage angst, it somehow epitomises my relationship with depression, which developed during my teenage years and has become a kind of internal frenemy.

A tongue-in-cheek nod to the aforementioned poem, I’ve penned the following ode to depression:

My Ten Things I Hate About You, Depression

I hate the way you shut me up. Quite literally – my tongue feels swollen to twice its size and I’m unable to speak without slurring my words.

I hate the way you slow me down. I crawl through the days, zombie-like, whenever you’re around. My legs leaden, I drag myself along, going through the motions.

I hate the way you steal my mind. Frustratingly, you make me forget my words. You leave me hanging mid-sentence, embarrassed; you make me look stupid.

I hate the way you make me numb. In trying to keep me safe, you shut me off from any kind of emotion. Even – or perhaps especially – the good ones, which only makes things harder for me.

I hate the way you steal my sparkle. I don’t feel like laughing when you’re around. You drain the fun out of me. You steal my sunshine.

I hate the way you make me selfish. I care so deeply about others, and yet with you, my attention is entirely consumed. There’s no room for anyone else; just you and me. You’re an emotionally abusive partner. You’re my frenemy.

I hate the way you make me cry. And it’s never about anything in particular. Sometimes, at the end of a movie when I’ve spent the past two hours living someone else’s life, I don’t want to come back to mine. So I cry.

I hate the way you isolate me. You make me lie to friends and family when you convince me to cancel plans last-minute. To keep me “safe”, but from whom? You encourage me to push away the people I need and love most. You make me afraid to try to make new friends.I hate the way you make me lonely.

I hate the way you make me disappear. I’m a ghost hovering on the edges of my own life when you’re around. I float on the edge of my own existence. Like watching my life unfold from behind soundproof glass. Sometimes, it feels like I’m screaming and no one can hear

But mostly, I hate the way I don’t really hate you.

Instead, you make me hate myself.

We’re tied so closely together, you and I. I can’t quite trust myself when it comes to knowing how much of what I think is me is actually you, and how much of what I think is you is actually me. So I assume the worst of us both.

Reading this back to myself aloud, it has a certain kind of power. A strength that’s simultaneously sad, but also truthful. It feels like an authentic account of depression and I. The opposite of a love letter, I suppose.

There’s even something strangely satisfying about being able to capture something intangible – like depression, which is really just a state of mind – and pin it down in words. It reminds me of the Victorian butterflies on my living room wall, pinned and frozen in time. Beautiful, in a macabre kind of way.

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Writing on Depression is my Emotional Entomology

Perhaps I’m invoking my perpetual moody teenager in this piece. You know, the sixteen year-old goth who comes out whenever I’m in the company of my parents for too long. She’s definitely in here somewhere. After all, my Mum’s literally only just stopped buying me gifts in varying shades of black (seriously).

Still, I think I’ve nailed how insidious my experience of this particular form mental illness can be: taking me over, throwing a tantrum inside my mind, causing chaos in my internal world.

Thankfully, I’m starting to feel the fog lift. Depression comes and goes, I find, and it’s often only a matter of time before it comes to pass. Though it hurts like a b*tch in the meanwhile.

In a way, it’s because of this cyclical nature that it feels even more important to acknowledge how my present state of mind massively impacts upon on who I am and how I navigate the world in any given moment.

Think of it like the grown-up version of going through puberty. An adult adolescence of sorts; an eternal version of the emotional turmoil you feel as a teenager. It’s invisible, embarrassingly uncomfortable, and affects absolutely every part of my life experience to date.

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