(I wrote most of this yesterday therefore there are two time stamps because, like I always say, extra is as extra does).
Something I’ve been meaning to do some sort of write up about on some sort of platform for a while now is how it feels to write by hand as opposed to typing pieces out, and I figured this is a good a platform as any to vent about that. So here’s a little excessive opening up and barfing of words because y not, amirite?
I used to write poems and prose and letters and the like by hand all the time and the process of watching the ink mold into the form your fingers have directed is its own kind of therapeutic experience. I was even convinced I’d never be able to express myself fully by or feel as satisfied by typing my feelings out but, like all the things I always say ‘never’ about, I was wrong. And so I went through this sort of withdrawal from handwriting phase due to oversaturation where the vast majority of my thoughts were typed out in word documents and captions on social media and unnecessarily long posts on my blog and for a while I felt like my writing was much better than it’s ever been (which isn’t saying much but relatively speaking, it is) and that I was improving at a much faster rate than when I used to write by hand. I eventually got saturated by that too, though, and I started to miss the raw and wholesome feelings of writing my thoughts directly onto paper where all the spelling mistakes and cutouts and mess ups had just as much of an existence and presence as the final words themselves.
However, because it’s been so long since I’ve gotten absorbed into that process, I’m quite rusty at it now and it feels like I’m starting all over again, my fingers and mind and heart trying to recall what at some point they used to do so effortlessly and happily. So now I’m now going through this phase where any and everything I write is quite rough and broken, jagged at the edges and bumpy on the surface, and almost none of it really feels like me anymore. It’s a weird kind of writer’s block I guess, and I’m working through it as much as I can with as minimal frustration sessions and silent breakdowns as possible, but obviously, like all blocks and learning processes, it’ll take time.
I just wanted to put out there the fact that a year ago I’d probably have given up on myself or at the very least I wouldn’t have allowed myself the time and space and vulnerability to consciously be okay with not being good at something I used to actually have a tiny bit of confidence in every now and then. But now I’m slowly yet surely learning that healing and learning and growing are as rough and raw and convoluted as my writing these days is, and that that’s okay. I have to love and respect myself enough to let myself pick up the pieces at my own pace and take as many baby steps and make as many mistakes as I need to get to a point where the plateau I reach is one of warmth and belonging rather than burning out and fading away.
And I’m probably going to have to go through feelings like these over and over again but the highs and lows are all part of something that is so much greater than the whole of my worries, so much more enriching than the days I feel down. And a lot of that sort of self-care journey involves being able to accept that I’m allowed to be sad and angry and lost sometimes because they’re all part of the road I’ve chosen to walk on. So even if the road is gross and bumpy and I want to take a different one most days, it’s the one I have to and need to take in order to reach where I’m headed. All I need are my own permission and an aspiring healthy relationship with my soul to do so; I just hope I’m able to at least enjoy the views on the way. Wish me luck!
If you have any similar or even completely stories about a writer’s block, artist’s block, or something like that, please do share them in the comments! Maybe we can help each other out?