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Being the face of my business made it impossible to grieve

Being the face of my business made it impossible to grieve

Like most toxic relationships, I’ve loved and hated my work with equal intensity over the course of my career. At 26, the stress of working in a hospitality management role put me on medication that I will probably take for the rest of my life. At 30, becoming a self-employed freelance writer and getting a book deal was a cause for celebration. Then, when I came out as a lesbian at 35, my attachment to my career began to shape shift yet again. But this time felt different.

In first few months after coming out as a lesbian, my work as a freelance writer and writing group facilitator was something to lean on when everything stable in my life had disappeared. My husband, our home, and the certainty about our future together had been destroyed. I moved back into my parents’ house, grateful for the rent-free living, yet stifled by a routine that was not my own, and desperate for a sense of direction when both my identity and path forward seemed like anybody’s guess.

Impossibly tall tenement rooms held the void of my future in their corners. Painted-shut windows wore the mould of outdated identities

Those early months were saturated in the kind of unpredictable grief that spilled out at the seams. Long voice notes to friends, pages and pages of journaling late at night. But work was a tonic, a reason to get out of bed, and a way to create financial building blocks for the future. I was helping people – hosting writing groups multiple times a week, holding space for connection and creative confidence was something that seemed like it should be fulfilling. So I kept doing it.

But still, something in me wasn’t OK, and I knew I needed more space to process and I needed it sharpish. I scoured ads on spareroom.com and moved into a room of my own a few weeks later. The rent was the cheapest I could find, and although there was some fear around being solely responsible for my own bills, I’d been earning consistent wages through my business for six years or so, and figured it would probably all work out fine.

Opening up to grief

The rumblings of a dissatisfaction with my work were amplified in the space. Impossibly tall tenement rooms held the void of my future in their corners. Painted-shut windows wore the mould of outdated identities. I liked to lie in bed because I could still see the trees from the window as I wept and wondered what would become of me. I moved in during the summer, and watched the summer leaves, jealous of their joy, from underneath secondhand sheets in another not-quite-mine kind of a room.

Tracing familiar steps from between the bedroom and the fridge, I worked with my MacBook propped up on my lap in bed, finding comfort in the hidden-away nature of my existence. Even when I was struggling, I worked hard on my business, chasing pitches, writing articles, and hyping myself up to mentor clients. Maybe I didn’t work in the ways that I used to, but I did so in the ways that grief allowed.

 

As autumn approached, I found a local poetry course to take part in. The creativity felt like a hopeful avenue for healing, perhaps even a boost of motivation to work a little differently? But as the leaves turned from green, to yellow, to fiery red, the catharsis of free verse opened up long-forgotten wounds, drew circles around my biggest fears, and zoomed in on my shadows in a way that was difficult to withstand. Vulnerability in writing has always been my strength. Previously, it was the safest place for me to tell the truth, because it gave me a chance to let my thoughts bloom fully and petter out naturally. But now, the truth was painful and hard to witness.

Fear of being uninspiring

As my tenderness towards the truth increased, my income plumetted. The optimistic, inspiring social media posts that had once led my online courses to sell-out in just a few days, weren’t coming naturally. In fact, they weren’t coming at all. I resented the implicit need to alchemise my life into marketing emails, to continually feed the algorithm with scroll-stopping hooks and calls to action. Yet the more I resisted, the more I noticed my bank balance dwindling.

The task of portraying myself online to make ends meet became tedious, bordering on self-betrayal. There were no inspiring tales to tell. It seemed that all my writing was dark, complicated, and worryingly contradictory to the ‘me’ that appeared in my books, the ‘me’ that clients had been used to working with. Sharing my emotional landscape online had once felt empowering, but now, it felt like career suicide. Even if people did genuinely want to know the inner workings of my mind, I was in no place to articulate them without falling apart.

When you take off the mask that made people like you, there’s a chance you’ll be left to fend for yourself.

So, as another low balance alert pinged on my phone, I did what I’ve always done. I assumed that I was the problem. I moved further and further away from the truth about the my unnamable grief and looked for ways to maintain the facade of palatability. Instead of the confessional emails I was known for, I bought marketing templates. On good days, I recycled old posts. On bad days, I asked ChatGPT to write them. None of it worked.

Unsurprisingly, this attempt to pass as emotionally stable didn’t work. Christmas brought with it one last-ditch attempt at an online writing group that I could only facilitate in the knowledge that it would be done entirely via email, without having to appear on camera. Several people took part and said positive things, but I was mentally absent from the process. In the New Year, I moved back in with my parents, yet again, to regroup.

Letting go of the perception of success

My business was not a victim in all of this. My business could have recovered; but not with me at the helm, that was clear. So I decided to start applying for jobs, which resulted in quite a few potential employers looking at my with confusion. Like one guy who literally scratched his head when he realised I was a published author applying for a social media role at a coffee company; another asked me how much I earned from my books; another curious as to why I was applying for such a ‘junior’ position. How could I tell them that the self-assured person who achieved all the successes on my CV was dead? How to explain that my career hinged on writing about myself, but that my reflection had become so distorted that there was no other option than to try writing about coffee as a way to escape my own grief?

Working in traditional employment had always felt like self-abandonment to me, even if I couldn’t see it at the time. Being self-employed, having autonomy over my projects, my schedule, my rates, that was self-reclamation. But now, opening up another rejection email was a reminder when you take off the mask that made people like you, there’s a chance you’ll be left to fend for yourself.

After almost six months of doing nothing other than apply for jobs and attend interviews, I was finally offered a year-long contract as Features Editor. Answering that phone call was what I imagine it must be like to win the lottery, except the cheque is just a year-long opportunity to remove the mask of performed happiness without getting into mountains to debt in the process. A year off from selling a product that is wrapped up in my identity, a year off from selling myself as part of my work, a year to redefine the boundaries of where my business ends and I begin.

This isn’t to say business owners can’t create space to work and grieve simultaneously. This isn’t to say that work is essential to recovery. It’s just that grief is an unpredictable shadow that follows us all in some shape or form, and how we learn to cope with that is unique to each of us. Having control over my work life used to soothe me, but after about 6 weeks of being in regular employment again, my nervous system responded and began to settle for the first time in years.

I’m an over-sharer and will always write about myself, but this portion of my life – the liminal aftermath of shattering who I am and not knowing what comes next – has been far too tender to unravel in realtime. And working within the reliable structure of a 9-5 job with a regular pay check every month, alongside the symbolic letting go of the obligation to write about my life on a public scale formed the beginning of a kind of healing for me. Will I share the lessons learned from this period? I’m not sure, but I know that writing this piece has been therapeutic, so it seems that baby steps are forming, although I’m taking it at my own pace.

A few years ago, I was entirely convinced that being a company of one was a cornerstone of my identity, that being self-employed was an essential aspect of what it means to be ‘me’. But life can surprise us, and perhaps that version of ‘me’ is the thing I’m grieving for today. May she rest in peace.

Find clarity to journal with Focus Mapping

Find clarity to journal with Focus Mapping

Journaling has never been a daily habit for me.

As much as I would LOVE to tell you that I wake up with the birds and gleefully open my notebook to do morning pages (look up The Artist’s Way if you’re not sure what that is) the reality is very different.

I journal in bursts. Sometimes multiple times a day, on my phone and in several notebooks. Other times, I’ll manage one paragraph of incoherent ramblings and resist trying again for months. There’s no shame in this, and it doesn’t mean that you’re not ‘good’ at journaling.

Personally, I’ve been seriously struggling to organise my thoughts recently and wondered if this focus mapping technique would help you. While it isn’t going to solve all of life’s problems, it has helped me get back into a groove with writing, after many many months of feeling unable to get started. Once you’ve got the hang of it, you might enjoy these other therapeutic writing techniques.

Forget ‘perfect’ journaling. Journaling doesn’t have to be a long, linear story of your day. Our thoughts jump around – let’s allow ourselves a more natural way of organising our ideas.

Try Focus Mapping

Focus mapping is a visual technique that can help you journal more easily. Here’s how to do it:

1. Grab a blank sheet of paper.
2. Write today’s date in the centre and circle it.
3. Draw 4-5 lines branching out from the date.
4. At the end of each line, write a topic on your mind (e.g., work, family, goals).
5. Add more branches to each topic with specific thoughts or ideas.
6. Keep expanding until you’ve written everything on your mind.
7. Review your map and choose one topic that stands out to you, and journal further on it.

Why it works

– It’s visual and fun
– Helps organise scattered thoughts
– Shows connections between ideas
– Lets you choose what to focus on

And hey, there’s no right or wrong way to journal. This method is just a tool to help you get started AND gives you a bank of ideas to work from the next time you open your notebook.

Try it out and see if it works for you.

Writing as a Tool for Living Through Crisis

Writing as a Tool for Living Through Crisis

“How’s your apocalypse going?”

That’s something I heard Phoebe Bridgers say during the early months of the pandemic and it’s continued to ring in my ears ever since.

Because greeting each other with humour during trying times is a coping mechanism I simply refuse to give up. When you’re exhausted and life seems hopeless, allowing yourself to laugh seems wrong… but sometimes it’s all you have.

via GIPHY

I don’t want to talk about humour today, but I do want to talk about writing as a tool during a crisis. And I use that word because our world is in a crisis.

State of affairs

Here in the UK, we’ve been warned we’re living in a pre-war era. Locally, services for young people, women and the most vulnerable are being cut. Rates of mental illness are increasing across the board and access to support is limited, whilst cost of living increases.

News of violence, injustice, illness, and catastrophe bombard us 24/7 and for those already facing struggles with poverty, racism, mental illness or other challenges, this constant stream of negativity can feel utterly overwhelming.

Finding the motivation to do anything, let alone write, can feel impossible.

Writing through a crisis

Yet studies show that writing can be a powerful coping tool during times of crisis. The act of putting thoughts and emotions into words, especially in a private journal, has been found to reduce stress, depression, and anxiety. Writing helps make sense of chaos, gain perspective, and release pent-up feelings. It can be an emotional and mental lifeline when all seems lost.

Here are 3 tips to help you write during difficult times:

1. Start small

Just write one sentence or paragraph about how you feel right now. Don’t worry about structure, grammar, etc. The act itself is what matters.

2. Write by hand

Computers and phones are likely to lead to distractions, such as news feeds and emails. Write in a real paper journal or notebook. The tactile process can be soothing in itself, giving you a physical marker of your progress.

3. Make it private

We pressure ourselves to write a blog post or a clever tweet too often. Write for yourself, in private, as a way to hear your own thoughts. There’s no need to ever share it.

Acknowledge the vulnerability of writing

Writing requires courage during crisis, and it can help to admit that.

AndI think we know this, we know that writing means opening the floodgates to deep pain, confusion, anger and grief.  But facing that tough stuff in your writing offers long-term mental health benefits. The insights gained lead to post-traumatic growth and a sort of order to the chaos, helping you process events and regain a sense of control.

If you’re facing a crisis, know that you have an powerful tool within you already – your ability to express yourself through words.

CHOOSE TO WRITE.

 

 

3 Ways to Fit Writing Around Your Full-Time Job

3 Ways to Fit Writing Around Your Full-Time Job

When you’re working a full-time job, following your creative passions almost always take a backseat. You’re probably looking at me, a published author, and thinking – what does she know? She writes for a living! But hear me out.

First off – I didn’t start following my creative passions until I was in my late-twenties. Like most young adults, I put all my energy into my career which, at the time, was in hospitality management. I worked 12-hour shifts on my feet, serving customers, smiling through gritted teeth, lugging boxes and scrubbing floors. When I eventually made it home just before midnight, the last thing I wanted to do was open my laptop and write. So I didn’t. I stayed in my career lane and accepted the belief that writing wasn’t something that I was going to have in my life.

Secondly, I’m not embarrassed to admit that I STILL find it difficult to make time for my writing. Being a published author doesn’t pay the bills, so I spend a lot of my working day doing, er, very little writing. I’m doing other fun stuff like talking on zoom calls with clients, hosting group programs, creating social media content and putting online courses together. And when I DO get to write, it’s often in a marketing capacity where I’m writing blog posts like this with a specific audience in mind.

My artistic pursuits (poetry, non-fiction) are an unpaid craft that no one is asking me to make time for. It’s something that I have to take personal responsibility for and its oh-so-easy to let fall by the wayside.

I’m guessing you’re in a similar situation, where the itch to create clashes with the demands of your 9-to-5 grind, leaving your feeling drained and creatively starved. Good news, babes. I’ve got some advice for ya…

 

But first, why bother making time to write?

Let’s acknowledge the emotional toll that NOT writing can take on you. The frustration of abandoning your own creative pursuits in favour of professional obligations can lead to a sense of intense emotional pain and creative stagnation. You don’t need me to tell you hat this internal conflict has a drastic impact on your mental well-being.

A study published in the Journal of Applied Psychology tells us that engaging in creative activities is linked to lower stress levels and enhanced mood. With this knowledge, I think it’s essential that you find ways to integrate writing into your daily life. In fact, I’ve seen this happen in real-time with clients who see a correlation between making time to write and the way they show up in the workplace. Having something creative to focus on outside of the 9-5 actually puts them in a better mood during working hours.

OK, enough chit-chat. Here are my tips on how to make time for writing when you work a full-time job.

1. Choose Micro-Moments

Research from the University of Southern California suggests that short bursts of creative activity can be more effective than prolonged sessions. It’s important to understand that creativity doesn’t always require a big chunk of time. Make the most of those 15-minute breaks or your commute, coffee break, or moments between meetings to journal, jot down ideas, snippets, or reflections. Small, consistent efforts add up, giving you a sense of accomplishment and more easily-accessible connection to your creative self.

2. Rituals Over Routines

Maybe it’s the fact that I’m a Sagittarius, or perhaps just a hangover from working in a corporate environment, but either way – I’m incredibly resistant to strict routines. That’s why I love the concept of rituals.

A study published in the European Journal of Social Psychology found that rituals enhance the subjective value of an experience, making it more meaningful. Create personalised writing rituals that serve as transition markers from your working day to your creative life. Whether it’s playing a specific playlist, lighting a scented candle, or your favourite hot drink, these rituals signal to your brain that it’s time to shift into creative mode, making the transition smoother and more enjoyable.

Although it might seem inconsequential, psychological studies tell us that subtle environmental cues can trigger specific behaviours. By establishing writing rituals, you’re creating a conducive environment that supports and encourages your writing habit.

Try these rituals:

  • Light a candle (a specific scent reserved for writing time is even better)
  • Set some mood lighting
  • Move to a space separate from where you work (a cafe, the bedroom, the kitchen table)
  • Play your favourite motivtional song (I love Motivation by Normani)
  • Set the tone with ambient sounds

 

3. Action breeds inspiration

Instead of passively waiting for the muse to strike before you take to the page, commit to writing for just five minutes. Yep, just five! I find the act of simply starting initiates a flow that extends beyond the initial timeframe. Research in neuroscience supports this idea that action triggers the brain’s creative centres. Engaging in writing stimulates the release of dopamine, a neurotransmitter associated with motivation and pleasure. By taking proactive steps, you not only jumpstart your creative flow but also experience a sense of fulfilment which leads you to write for longer periods of time and get inspired as a result. Action breeds inspiration, turning the creative process into a dynamic force rather than an endless waiting game. Win win!

There’s no doubt that reclaiming your writing time requires a shift in mindset and unconventional strategies. The emotional pain points of juggling work and creative passions are real, but by embracing micro-moments, creating personalised rituals, and reversing the inspiration equation, you CAN prioritise writing and see results.

Above all, I want you to know that your creative pursuits are not a luxury – but a necessity for your well-being. By integrating these strategies, you’ll not only rediscover the joy of writing but also enhance your mental and emotional resilience. Happy writing!

Why Chaotic First Drafts are the Secret Sauce

Why Chaotic First Drafts are the Secret Sauce

Have I rewritten this headline twenty times? Of course I have. And did I end up going back to the one I wrote the very first time? Hell yes. This is perfectionism and it’s what we do – because we’re writers.

But let me share with you a secret that took me years to learn: your first drafts don’t have to be perfect. In fact, they really shouldn‘t be.

When I started writing my memoir, waaaay back in 2018, I spent a long time on the first three chapters. Instead of pouring all my stories onto the page, I was laser-focused on finding the exact right words and sentence structure that jumped off the page.

By the time I got to chapter ten, I was exhausted. Not only that, but I was on a strict deadline and had to rush everything out towards the end, so I had a complete first draft to show my editor.

When I submitted the scraggly collection of 60k words, the first half was more polished than the second portion. But in their essence, those later, rushed chapters were more truthful than the ones that came before. Why? Because I was in a time crunch so intense that I literally didn’t have the luxury of indulging my perfectionist tendencies.

Since then, I’ve written another two books, hundreds of magazine articles, blog posts and poems and I’ve become more and more comfortable with writing messily in my first drafts.

The perfectionism problem for writers

The thing about perfectionism is that it isn’t really about high standards—it’s about never feeling satisfied with what you’ve accomplished. It’s the fear of the blank page, the pressure of the first word, the dread of the first sentence. It’s the constant comparison to the bestseller you just read, the worry that when people read your writing they’ll think it’s pretentious nonsense.

And what does all this crippling fear lead to?

Unfortunately, it’s stifled creativity and lacklustre ideas. It robs you of your inimitable voice and makes your writing feel forced and inauthentic. You end up writing in a way that you perceive as palatable to others, instead of honouring your unique perspective.

I’m not saying you should write sloppily or publish all your first drafts without spell-checking or editing your work. Editing is an essential part of the process but it requires a different kind of mindset that I don’t believe helps you whatsoever in the earlier phases of creation.

Here’s what I mean when I talk about the drafting phase in contrast to the editing phase:

 

The first-draft phase

  • Writing the first draft of anything requires an exploration mindset. You’re opening up your imagination and digging around to see what’s there. If you focus on a specific outcome, or hope that it will land in a certain way, you might miss the potential gems waiting to be found in the process.
  • Neuroscience tells us that during the creative process, multiple areas of the brain, including the prefrontal cortex and the default mode network, engage in a unique dance, fostering new connections which leads to unusual ideas. This is the fun bit!
  • Think of it this way: If you saw a kid using a ladle as a microphone, would you tell them that it’s really supposed to be used for holding soup? No. You’d let them have their fun. Allow yourself to play and embrace the chaos of the initial draft.

 

The editing phase

  • Editing, on the other hand, is the meticulous art of refinement.
  • This is where the prefrontal cortex, responsible for decision-making, evaluates each and every word and sentence allowing you to shape your creation into the best possible version and crucially, communicating the essence of what you discovered in the first draft phase.
  • When you’re editing mode, you want to look for inconsistencies and areas to be improved. But when you get into this brain space too early, you silence the wild ideas before they have a chance to reveal themselves.

 

Reframing writing your first draft

Whether it’s a blog post, article, novel or social media caption – breaking free from perfectionism trap requires a mental shift. Instead of viewing your writing through a lens of judgment, see it as a process of discovery. Ignore the image you have in your head about how the end piece ‘should’ look, and focus on the joy of creation.

Actively revel the messiness and allow yourself to make mistakes. It’s only through this somewhat chaotic process that your unique voice will come to the forefront. And when that inner critic starts whispering in your ear, gently remind yourself: “This is my first draft. It’s not meant to be perfect. It’s meant to be real.”

And look, as someone who’s been down this road, it’s not an overnight transformation. I still need to remind myself daily that messy first drafts are an unavoidable part of the writing process.

Daring to be vulnerable

The books and articles that I remember vividly are the ones that have had an emotional impact on me. Whether that’s bawling my eyes out to a Maggie O’Farrell novel or reflecting on my own behaviours after reading a first-person account of white privilege. When writers bare their words with generosity and honesty, it’s hard not to be affected by them.

A recent turning point for me was realising that my poetry differs quite drastically from the way I present myself socially. After reading out several poems to my classmates on a recent course, I had a conversation with my tutor about the lack of humour in my poetry in comparison to how lighthearted and playful I am in my personality. I reflected a lot on this, and still am. I’m not sure that either voice is better than the other; I just know that my poems represent a facet of my personality that I don’t normally reveal in conversation.

And that’s the magic right there. We, as writers, are multi-faceted humans with so many truths to tell. Don’t be afraid to set them free.

How to Prioritise Writing & Reclaim Your Festive Season

How to Prioritise Writing & Reclaim Your Festive Season

Sleigh bells are ringing and it’s driving me crazy. This time of year is SO heavy for me and I know plenty of you feel the same too. The enforced fun. The hectic social life. It feels like you give a lot and rarely make time to do things that you actually want to do.

But instead of resigning myself to a sad season, I’ve decided to refram it as an opportunity to dedicate more time to writing.

Accepting the sadness

Sadness during the festive season is natural, and acknowledging it is something that I think everyone needs to get better at doing. When it gets closer to Christmas Day, I’m haunted by the memories of all the past festive seasons that I spent in the depths of my depression. It’s almost like my body and brain are scared of it happening all over again, so I struggle to access that merry feeling that we’re told we’re supposed to have. I realise now that writing is my tool for emotion processing, and I should lean into that now more than any other time of year.

Choose creativity

Choosing creativity breaks the mould of the “perfect” festive season, making it a time for honouring your needs as a creative. I want us to celebrate our autonomy by choosing to set our own festive tradition of writing a page a day over that tricky time between Christmas and New Year. Writing is your tool to assert your voice and navigate your emotional landscape. When you make a commitment to write, you affirm that your creativity and voice matter. This is hard, but it’s such a bold and empowering statement to make for you and your life!

You’re not the Grinch

The festive stigma of constant merriment can be isolating. It’s OK to resist this pressure. Authenticity is essential to your peace, and there is no “right” way of experiencing the holidays. Your festive narrative is yours to define and writing can help you do that.

TIP: Try writing about the ways you want to make time for yourself over the festive season, or make lists of all the things that will make you feel better when things start to get overwhelming. List all your favourite non-festive movies, and all your non-festive activities that make you happy, and plan dates to make them part of your schedule.

onilne writing retreat

People-pleasing detox

This festive season, I’m challenging you to align your actions with YOUR needs and think about how creativity can be sprinkled throughout your time to give you a boost.

Here are three practical tips to help you put an end to people-pleasing:

  1. Set those boundaries: I know, I know….. establishing boundaries is EXTRA hard over the holidays but it’s crucial in resisting the urge to people-please. It’s okay to say ‘no’ to social gatherings and traditions that drain your energy. For the love of god, protect at least a little but of your time and space from others.
  2. Share your creative goals: Open up to family and friends about your plan to prioritise your writing over the festive season. They may not fully get it, but clear communication may help them respect your choice.`
  3. Take care of yourself: People-pleasing is often a result of not seeing yourself as worthy of care. Make self-care activities, like writing, a non-negotiable part of your daily routine, even during the festive season. Join Write Through Christmas for that extra nudge of accountability.

Gift to yourself

Finances are tight, and you might fall into the category of people who spend tonnes on everyone else and never on themselves. This festive season,  gift yourself the joy of writing either on your own or with me as part of Write Through Christmas. You’re not alone in feeling less than merry, I see you and I feel your pain. Your experience of finding the season difficult it valid and deserves authentic expression.

Let’s shatter the pressure to uphold continuous merriment. It’s okay to embrace mixed emotions during the festive season. Use writing to express your authentic feelings and dismantle the merry facades.