My whole life, or at least that’s the way it seems, I’ve been desperate for love. All I want, and all I have ever wanted, is to be loved. I think that’s why I allow myself to constantly be used and mistreated because I believe that in order for people to love me, I have to give them whatever they ask for. But that’s not love. I don’t think I really know what love is. I don’t love myself; if I did, I wouldn’t let people use me and I would understand that I still have value even if others don’t think so. I surround myself, mostly, with people who temporarily need me, thinking it will grow into some kind of permanence but unfortunately, it rarely does.
If I really loved myself, I wouldn’t always assume there’s something wrong with me and try to take the blame when things fall apart. Why is it so hard for me to consider that I’m not always the bad guy? It is a real possibility that people out there are mean, plain and simple. If not mean, then self-serving. I have never been like that, and I don’t think it’s the worst thing if I start to be a little more self-interested.
My plan for this week’s entry was to talk about how I celebrate when my book is completed. But when I sat down to write this out, I realized I don’t really celebrate when I finish a manuscript, although to be fair, I’ve only done this twice so far. I feel all this pressure to revise and send it out to agents, like it doesn’t count as “completed” until it’s published. In typing that last sentence, I realize that’s an effect of my somewhat toxic “all or nothing” mentality. I should start celebrating the completion of drafts and manuscripts. I should get my nails done and go shopping – self-care is always a good idea. And I need ideas other than food; I’m too much of an emotional eater and no good has come from it. I’ve been on a diet and exercise plan and have had a rough two weeks of it: the week before last I only lost 2 ounces, and this week I gained 3 pounds. If I’m honest with myself, that last result shouldn’t be a surprise. I mean, I moved way less and cheated on my diet on 5 out of 7 days of the week. I get so frustrated with myself because if I have the willpower and the stamina to write novel, why can’t I have the same dedication to taking care of myself? Or to love myself?
So yeah; I will celebrate when my next book is completed by taking care of myself.
What about my fellow writers out there? What do you do to celebrate when you finish a book?
Tips for Better Self-Care:
Know your worth!
As evidenced by the content of this post, I’m making a concerted effort to highlight the better parts of myself. But I’m also careful not to ignore the parts that need work. I just need to be patient with myself because, as I need to remind myself, I love myself.
A healthy work-life balance.
Two years ago, I stopped taking work home with me on the weekends. I also stopped staying later than what was contractually mandated (barring extenuating circumstances). It helped me start to navigate away from that toxic “all or nothing” mentality I referenced earlier; my life is not all work and nothing else, and it is not all play and nothing else. I’m managing a healthy balance.
THIS IS SO IMPORTANT! A few years ago, I was getting debilitating migraines that attacked my speech and vision and memory. There were like small strokes, and I went to see a neurologist. When the scans came back clean, the neurologist explained I was suffering from complex migraines that were brought on by stress! I started exercising more and limiting caffeine and writing more. I’m proud to say I haven’t had an episode in over a year.
Start living, stop existing!!
I’m still working on this one. I’m making a resolution, right here and now, to have adventures, even if I have to go solo.
Better physical health!
… and I’m still working on this one.
And here are Ten Tips for Happier Living:
1. Go for a run or a light jog. I’m working up to this; I’m walking two miles every other day. When I feel up to it, I’ll start lightly jogging.
2. Meditate or do deep breathing for five minutes.
3. Take a break when you need it.
4. Choose who you spend time with.
5. Laugh heartily at least once a day.
6. Eat green daily. I’m working up to this; I’m doing a lot of research about the Mediterranean Diet.
7. Avoid emotional eating!! I emphasized this one because I STRUGGLE to avoid emotional eating.
8. Start a journal. Check and check! I have TONS.
9. Learn to say “No.” I’m working on this one, too.
10. Stop overthinking. So difficult for me! I think this might be an occupational hazard for many writers, so I researched ways to stop overthinking:
Notice when you’re thinking too much.
Acknowledge these thoughts are not productive.
Challenge your thoughts.
Acknowledge that your thoughts may be exaggeratedly negative.
Keep the focus on active problem-solving.
Look for solutions, don’t dwell on problems.
Schedule time for reflection.
20 minutes of “thinking time”
But how does one practice mindfulness?
Take a seat
Set a time limit
Notice your body
Feel your breath
Notice when your mind has wandered
Be kind to your wandering mind
I hope these tips prove beneficial for other writers up there who are trying to improve their respective head spaces. And once I finish this current project, I’ll invite you all to my celebration, I promise.
It’s been a year since my last blog post. I want to say I’ve been busy, and I have, but not in the romantic, adventurous ways I’d like. I was struggling with depression and losing the battle for a while. I had no inspiration, no motivation, no real reason to get up in the morning. There were some really awful nights where I sobbed until I couldn’t breathe, where I gorged myself until I couldn’t move, where I didn’t even leave my house to check the mail. I hated my existence and hated who I was – only the worst sort of person could allow herself to be such a fucking loser, I thought.
And the problem with writing, I realized, is that it is solitary and sedentary, making it NOT conducive to the my goals of being social and beautiful, but it remained vital to my survival; I have to write. So instead of blogging, I filled journals with scribbled self-loathing and only a few blips of creative expression.
But therapy helped; it really did. And so did attending The Writer’s Hotel writing conference in New York City in June of last year. I was inspired, invigorated! I met some truly amazing and talented people whom I still talk to. I got some much needed perspective and validation. As a result, I’m healthier than I’ve been in a long time, and I only have one more chapter to revise on my manuscript.
So I’m back, bitches! Here’s a prompt for your enjoyment.
01.2019: Stealing Sentences I opened up to a random page in Nic Pizzolatto’s collection of short stories, “Between Here and the Yellow Sea.” I chose the first sentence I saw, and wrote this little ditty.
She looked briefly at his art. “I don’t get it.”
Jay blinked. “What do you mean?” he asked in an accusatory tone, offended because he believed she was being intentionally obtuse.
Alison cocked her head to the left, trying to study the sculpture from a different angle. She narrowed her eyes and Jay remained breathless. When Alison sighed, Jay did too, disappointed and deflated. “What is it?” Alison asked.
“I can’t believe you can’t tell,” Jay growled. He gathered his sculpture delicately in his arms and headed for the door.
“Oh come on, Jay, it’s not that serious,” Alison pleaded as she followed close behind. As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she knew she had just made everything worse. Jay took his art super seriously and Alison knew that.
“I wasn’t looking for an in-depth critique or anything,” Jay said. He was struggling to open the door with his sculpture simultaneously nestled in his hands. “A little enthusiasm would have been nice, that’s all.”
Jay was avoiding eye contact, so Alison used the opportunity to roll her eyes. “I am always enthusiastic about everything you do. You just caught me on a bad day. I had an awful morning. I tried to make coffee without closing the lid on the coffee maker.”
“Fascinating,” Jay spat. His hand slipped against the doorknob. Alison reached over and opened the door for Jay. Neither moved for half a minute. Then Jay said, “I spent hours making this today. I was so proud of this sculpture and the first person I thought of to share my joy with was you. And you couldn’t even humor me.” With a wounded look that irritated Alison to no end, Jay marched himself out of Alison’s apartment and into the hallway. She slammed the door behind him, pissed at Jay for making her feel guilty. She didn’t really think he wanted to share joy with her. He wanted to praised for his artistic endeavor like some elementary school kid. He was a grown ass man who should be confident in his abilities and shouldn’t need any validation.
All the same, Alison supposed she could have asked questions and feigned interest, even if only for a few minutes, or until his excitement waned. She’d call later and apologize when she had more energy.
It really had been an awful morning.
March 30th was my last night in Vero Beach, Florida. I must admit that I was sad; I had such a wonderful vacation. I lounged in the sand, soaked up the sun, shopped in expensive boutiques, tried a new style with a new haircut and feel completely at peace with myself and those around me. That vacation had been everything I needed it to be and more. However, I must also admit that I missed New Jersey and as I left, I was excited to see my family.
As far as the so-called itinerary I had in mind for the trip, I did not finish “The Fountainhead” by Ayn Rand, but I only have a few pages left. I wrote, but nothing of real value or quality, and nothing as far as truly beginning a second novel. I talk about writing a lot, but I fear that lately, it has become only talk and nothing more. I have to make the time to read and write, and truly devote myself to my passion. I know that statement seems paradoxical and that one could argue that if I was truly passionate, I would not have to force myself to make time for writing. That being said, I will admit that teaching consumes much more of my time than I had originally anticipated. The goal for next year is to strike a healthier balance between striving for my dreams and being responsible at work. Teaching pays the bills and while I love it and am fulfilled by it, writing is what pumps my blood through my veins. Writing is what I see when I close my eyes, and the first thing I look for when I open them.
While on vacation, I attended the sunrise mass for Easter and went with Kim and Carol to Cracker Barrel for breakfast. It was the perfect ending to a perfect trip.
One of my ceramic brackets for my braces popped off while I was eating sushi … imagine that. I’ll called my orthodontist and set up an appointment. Once I got there, they removed the brackets – surprise! there was two – but did not replace them. If it’s not one thing, it’s another; but I say that with a smile on my face.
Below is an assortment of photos from my vacation. Enjoy! Maybe one will inspire YOU to create a poem or a short story. If one does, please feel free to share it!