Who Is the Best to Give Me Time to Write?
For a long time, I erroneously thought that being kind to myself meant claiming time and space for myself away from others.
One evening, I complained to my husband about my lack of time for writing. “Other authors take one hour or more in the evenings to write, or even go to writers’ retreats with the sole purpose of writing their books. I also want this! Even if it is just for five minutes every day.”
His answer was short and couldn’t have been more honest, direct and, I must admit, fair. He said, “So go to your desk, close the door behind you, and write.”
I was speechless. All I could do in response was go to our little home office, shut the door, put the timer on for five minutes and write.
I managed to write three short paragraphs during those five minutes. I did edit them heavily later, but the ease with which they’d flowed struck me. I realized that the whole heaviness of the task didn’t come from the lack of time to write but from the drama I had created around taking this time. The drama had not contained even an ounce either of kindness or honesty, neither to those around me nor myself.
I observed myself “testing” honesty and kindness towards myself and others, and tried to apply them separately, but I realized that they stopped existing without each other.
When I tried being kind to myself without seeing that I was the one preventing myself from doing what I wanted to do and instead trying to put the blame on others, I stopped being kind altogether. Blaming others for my inability to take time for my writing didn’t buy me a ticket to feeling good as I thought it would. I thought that by putting the responsibility for this on others would relieve the guilt I felt inside. It didn’t.
After that, I decided to blame myself instead, expose my “mistakes” (almost) publicly. That was my idea of being honest. But soon after, I felt miserable and started whining and asking people around me for mercy. To my surprise, many did have compassion and understanding. The one without compassion, who had been unable to see the truth, was me.
Grasping that honesty and kindness cannot fully bloom without each other was a big relief. There was suddenly both calmness and time to do what I wanted to do. I had neither to beat myself up nor to lie to myself. All there was to do was become aware that I was in discomfort, and then make a choice what to do next without trying to fix myself, anybody or anything. All there was to do was move forward. And people around me seemed not only to accept but also understand me more than they ever had before.
From Cheerleading for Writers: Discover How Truly Talented You Are.
