One day, I want to be a famous writer…
But the next day, I don’t. The struggle is real, ya’ll. It’s a busy life I have over here, having two small children, working, and adulting and all that jazz. Side note: my current definition of adulting: budgeting, making regular dinners, exercising, driving kids to school/daycare, nanny twin baby boys part-time. That’s the short version. All of this is happening as I got a hankering to become a writer. And every other day, I’m like “Screw this. I can’t string a coherent sentence together for an article! I’m over it.. Peace out!”
A month ago, I wrote a fairly good blog post. It’s my only one on Medium so far. And the reason I was compelled to actually publish it (after editing it for quite a few hours amidst doing laundry and half-paying attention to my son explaining his current Minecraft level) is because I desperately wanted to help women who struggle with body image. Before I published that post, I thought, “Who am I to post this? I’m no expert! And I’m freaking distracted!” I realized after that that I needed to publish it, because I am working to “be the change”, and to date, it’s one of my most important life stories I’ve ever written on being the change.
That was a month ago. I got over a hundred generous claps on Medium for my post, and that felt amazing, to know I could actually write and help some people out there. I was even more elated to get a lot of comments from women on Facebook who read it and needed the message of hope. And that was that. It was the only post I have managed to publish. Like I said, a month ago. And now, for the past month, all I do is stress about how I haven’t published again, because life.
I really admire moms who can find the time to actually write and make sense of their writing enough so that people can understand what the hell they’re saying. (I am aware as well, that there are moms who need to make this work, because they’re single moms who want to stay home with their kids but need to make money. Hats off to you ladies!)
My mind does not usually have the ability to do more than one thing at once. I also care way too much about cleaning and organizing my house. I know I need to let all that go and prioritize writing. When I’m writing and my kids are simultaneously talking to me, I want to pull my hair out. I usually stop writing and pay attention to my kids. When I assess this afterward, I am usually happy I make the choice to stop and pay attention to them. My kids are my most important work. And while that’s all good, I’m also mad that I don’t make time to get alone and write. If I do have alone time, I want to just sit around and read or watch a show, NOT write. Writing is sort of tedious for me. I wonder then, why do I want so desperately to be a writer, when writing is not natural for me? I think it’s because I know I can help people through writing. I want to stick with writing. I want to get it all typed out, reorganize my thoughts, craft a message in detail and get great at it. I think I want to do it so badly because I have never believed I could write well, and I like the challenge.
Just today, after publishing the first post over a month ago, I received a private Facebook message from a friend saying that my post really helped her. And I was happy. Happy to know that I didn’t have to “write every day”. That post is still helping someone after a month. Which then gave me the gumption to write this post. I actually WANTED to write today. Maybe that’s when I should write: when I feel like it. When the words can pour out naturally.
XO,
Jess