Fiction, non-fiction, short or long; we all tell stories. We tell the story of our day to our spouses/roommates/families. We tell the story of why we’re in a job we hate, or working at what we love. We tell stories about our health, stress, success, failure, breakfast. . .you get the idea.

I was thinking about a certain story I tell myself about writing. It goes something like this:

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who loved books so much she decided she wanted to write them. She started drafts of many books but rarely got beyond the first few pages. With the help of a very supportive mother, she eventually finished and self-published a book before she was a teenager, even selling it to a local children’s bookstore. But because that was the only one she finished, she didn’t see herself writing books anymore. All of her story ideas melted away within a few hundred words, and the desire to keep going dissipated. She found a new love, theatre, and only wrote in her journals and for school.

Her writing was always complimented by teachers and earned good grades. In the back of her mind, she believed that she could pick up writing again someday and be good at it. She continued to read and discovered a talent and liking for editing. She thought that maybe she wasn’t meant to write but to help other writers shape their words and launched Lady Myers’ Wordsmithing.

At first she wanted to help anyone with anything: College papers, resumes, cover letters, books, you name it. Then she caught wind of the rising indie publishing movement and narrowed her focus to working with indie authors. She started working with clients on editing, formatting, marketing, and everything else that goes along with being an author. This was fun and fulfilling (and certainly challenging), but there was a nagging sensation that she should be writing, too.

Of course, she was writing for her business, through blog posts and newsletters. She still journaled. She still felt she had a gift for writing. But she doubted she could write a book or even a short story. What had seemed so reasonable as a child now seemed presumptuous and arrogant. Who was she to start writing now, without spending years studying and honing her craft? What if she never lived up to  the standards set by teachers, parents, and friends who told her she was really good at this?

And so she resisted. She decided that before she could write anything, she needed to learn a whole lot more. She learned about story structure and outlining, which appealed to her logical side. She came to appreciate good storytelling more and more, even as she despaired of having enough creativity to do it herself. She attempted National Novel Writing Month, and while at first excited about her story, couldn’t get it going.

She still heard that still, small voice of encouragement within, and was brave enough to confront the inner demons that had her convinced she wasn’t good enough. The demons tried to trick her, laughing at her ambitions one minute and chiding her for not pursuing them the next. It seemed she couldn’t win, which is what they wanted her to think. She stood her ground and exposed the truth, that it didn’t matter how good or bad her writing was. It didn’t matter if she wrote just for herself or for the world. It just mattered that she wrote, because it felt right. Her life was her story, and she was going to write it her way.

What is Your Story?

You have similar stories. Stories you’ve told yourself so often and for so long that they seem like fact. Pick one and rewrite it the way your inner hero/heroine would live it. If you can’t find your inner heroine, borrow one. You can write it anywhere you like, any way you like, as often as you like.

If you are comfortable, leave a comment sharing the story you are going to change, or which hero you would like to star as you in your story, rewritten.

We are all storytellers. Choose your story wisely.

How anxiety has manifested for me

Tired but wired.
Elevated heart rate.
Increased muscle tension.
Difficulty concentrating.
Excessive, repetitive worrying.
Difficulty sleeping through the night.
Mood swings.

I would say three things have played major roles in setting this little bout off: coming off a pain medication, allergies, and the anniversary of something less than pleasant.

Pain Meds

For years I have used pain meds to manage my fibromyalgia, even before I knew that’s what was causing all of my pain. I have had varied levels of dependence on them, but even going off of them slowly is hard. The happy, soothing chemicals the meds triggered the release of are hard to come by in other ways. I have been on an anti-anxiety/depression medication for the last year, which is keeping me from going completely bananas.

Allergies

Ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh. Almost as soon as I got back from England, allergies got triggered. I was sneezing, sniffling, coughing,  and my head was pounding. Any type of non-drowsy medication exacerbates my anxiety, so I rely on a neti pot (for flushing my nasal passages) and an antihistamine that makes me drowsy at night. Over-the-counter acetaminophen was the strongest stuff I had to deal with the headache, and after building up a tolerance to even prescription pain meds, that wasn’t all that helpful.

Unpleasant Anniversary

Almost exactly a year ago, I went through a common but still disheartening experience. I did my best to process it but I’m still working out how much of my anxiety now is an echo from then.

As I am constantly learning and re-learning, the key to showing up in life while feeling anxious is to make healing the anxiety the number one priority. No stiffer upper lip or just getting on with it. That may work to some degree, but it isn’t the best way to deal. If you want to be productive, you need to feel good, and to feel good you need to get yourself in the right head space.

How I’ve Been Coping

Learning from people I admire: I have a few people on the web who’s blogs/vlogs/Tweets/etc. always make me feel a little bit better. When I can’t conjure a single positive thought, I hit up their sites.

EFT: Emotional Freedom Technique involves tapping on acupressure points while talking about what’s bugging you. I have found relief with this, and am attending the virtual World Conference that started May 7. If you want more information on EFT, this is a great free resource.

Movement: While I could use more of this, getting in a few heart-pumping sessions a week has helped. I bounce on a mini-trampoline, play with my three-year-old nephew, take walks, jump on the treadmill. High energy music sparks my brain to release endorphins, increasing that positive effect of exercise.

Cutting myself major slack: This is so hard, as I never feel like I’m doing enough, but letting myself have a couple of sick days when my allergies were at their worst or when I had a migraine was essential to feeling better.

“A misty morning does not always signal a cloud day”: I got this from a cheesy inspirational calendar years ago, and I remind myself of it whenever I’m having a morning funk that seems like it will never lift. Even on really hard days, I almost always feel somewhat better by late afternoon/early evening.

Acknowledging support: I have a place I hang out that is amazing at offering unconditional support, where I feel comfortable saying exactly how I feel. I also feel supported when I read about others’ experience with the mental illness, like The Bloggess, Angela and Charlie at Productive Flourishing, Hayley Lau, and Heather Armstrong. It may be more acceptable and understood nowadays, but the more it is talked about the better.

Moving Forward

Each day I’ve been feeling a little bit better, and my anxiety is less generalized and more specific. For example, I have a handful of book reviews begging to be written and posted, and as much as I want to get on that, I’m having writing anxiety. What if I can’t think of anything to say? What if what I say isn’t good enough? What if I only think I have something valuable to add to the writing/reading community? Sometimes just giving voice to these concerns is enough. I tell those doubts that the authors I review will be grateful for even a few sentences, so it’s okay if my words aren’t perfect.

Resistance is everyone’s nemesis, and when anxiety jumps on the resistance train it is that much harder of a battle. Not an impossible one, but one that requires unique tactics and a mindful approach. So I won’t vow to start posting at least once a week or commit to reviewing books on a regular basis. I hope to be consistent but I don’t want the pressure of promises I’m not sure I can keep.

I share my experience because I am comfortable doing so and hope it may help someone else. Your thoughts are welcome in the comments, but I salute you whether you choose to share your own struggles or not.

This has been coming up for me as I hang out in England. I find myself in other people’s space all the time, unsure of what to do and how to do it. This ranges from the practical, like Where do you put the recycling? to the emotional, like Is it okay to silently retreat into reading while you guys watch TV or do I need to be ‘sociable’? Is it okay to put this much of my stuff here? Should I be offering to help? Insisting on or accepting others’ refusual of help? When I offer my opinion, am I owning my space or being selfish? Am I letting other people’s stuff into my space and to bend my brain?

There is also the owning my role as a business owner. I talk about needing time to work but keep waiting for a challenge. As if it is obvious that I am not really that successful and thus am inflating my sense of importance. This feeling persists even though I have actual, legitimate client work to do. I have more internal work to do, like creating project templates and organizing files. I also have my marketing activities, like blogging and grooving on social media sites. I can’t quantify everything I do, and thus explaining it is hard. Maybe I should worry less about explanations.

I thought that traveling would fire up my creative muse and blog posts would practically write themselves. I thought maybe I would finally feel inspired to write a short story or two. Instead, I find myself wanting to absorb and soak up, like the spring ground that is just beginning to sprout flowers. I want to Ground so I can Own My Space.

What do I know about Grounding?

It means connecting to the Earth and to the intangible hum of life that is in every atom from my soul to the furthest reaches of the Universe (as much as something that is infinite can have furthest reaches, anyway). I know that meditating is the best way for me to do this, and so I’ve been more careful about starting my day by sitting.

Grounding is about feeling my way into support, allowing gravity to do most of the work and not wasting energy trying to help it along.

It is about locking on to truth and authenticity.

It is standing on a cobbled street in the heart of London and for a moment thinking of how many feet have trod there before and how many will come after; stretching my mind to contain the thought of ancient times and a future where the city will no longer exist. My life may be finite but in that moment I am on a continuum that stretches forever, which makes me ask:

What is really important?

Love is really important. So is joy. The more I choose love and joy over fear and hate the more I am grounded.

What do I know about Owning My Space?

It means planting both feet firmly on the ground. Establishing and maintaining good posture that is relaxed but balanced and straight. It means accepting my right to be where I am. To have my forcefield and to let others have theirs.

I decide what happens in my space, in my realm. I decide whether to subjugate myself to another or to try and subjugate them to me, aiming to do less of both. I strive to live and let live, to know that no one is better nor worse than I am.

It means taking turns of service, giving and receiving.

It’s about self-trust. If I would rather read than watch TV, I can assert my valid claim when that desire is challenged. I am not depriving anyone else of watching TV, after all.

And now I will heed the call to be fertile soil, receiving the nutrients I need to grow and give back to the world. I cannot force myself to bloom before my time, and there is a sweet peace in giving up that struggle.

* * *

What do you know about Grounding and Owning Your Space? Please leave a comment and let me know!

I only have a few minutes to say hello as we’re off to a rugby match (England v. Ireland). In the rain. Of course. That’s jolly old England for you! At least the pubs are cozy.

I am feeling the pull of writing, as if the air in England is infused with the spirits of great writers, past and present. I’m pretty sure I’ll be writing with a British accent in the very near future. There is just something about being somewhere different and out of my normal routine that sparks creativity. Perhaps I’ll actually get into some fiction writing, finally. Being here opens up more possibilities for me, as if I can shed the constraints of normal day-to-day thinking and let myself bolster my identity as a business owner and writer. A trip to the London Library, which I found out about from Joanna Penn, will most certainly help with that.

Speaking of Ms. Penn, I have finished reading her book, Pentecost. An ARKANE Thriller,
and will be doing a full review in the next week. Sneak preview: I really liked it and my only complaint was wishing it were longer.

So that’s my update. Now I’d love to know how you take your writing on the road, and whether you have any tips for doing so. Please share in the comments!

Before

I’m heading to England for an extended holiday and decided that short hair would be easier to deal with anyway. The appointment was set. I had the directions for donation bookmarked.

Monday was appointment day. I had prepared myself as much as I could, because while I had been growing my hair out with the intention of donating it, I was still a bit attached to it. I worried that I wouldn’t look as good with short hair, that I’d be feeling remorse as I have when going short before. I thanked my hair for being such a positive part of my life, and let it go with my blessing. I knew it was going to a good cause, one I’d chosen because it required little money or energy. I wanted to find a way to give, but my finances only allowed so much monetary donation and my chronic fatigue only allowed so much time donation.

My hair, however, was going to be there anyway. I liked having long hair, so I didn’t mind growing it out. And I have nice, quality hair. How awesome to be able to enjoy it myself and then pass it on to someone else for their enjoyment? Any twinges of remorse were quickly silenced thinking about the recipient who very unwillingly and painfully lost her hair. This was a small price to pay to assuage some of that pain.

Ready to snip!

After the snip, snip, snip (it did take three to get through the ponytail), ten-plus inches went into a ziplock bag and I felt instantly lighter. It may only have been an ounce of hair, but the shift was noticeable.  By the time my do was washed and styled, I was beaming. I loved it! I felt older, but not in a bad way. I felt more mature and capable, and I have been reveling in the positive energy boost that comes with a big change like this and the accompanying compliments.

Ta-da!

This is how good editing feels. At first, it is difficult to imagine losing any of your words, even if you have too many and they aren’t showing off your book’s best face.

You remind yourself that you’ll always be able to put the words back in and let the editor have at it.

It comes back to you lighter, more structured, and somehow more authentically you than when you sent it off. You wonder why you were so worried—this streamlined manuscript looks and feels fantastic!

All those words were necessary to get to this point. If you hadn’t let it all spill onto the page, your editor couldn’t shape it into its full beauty. Every word may not make it into the the final product, but every word serves a purpose.

Too bad there isn’t somewhere to donate all those words that end up on the cutting room floor!