Writing with Anxiety

I think most of us have been there. Sitting staring at an open page, the thin line marking your place on the page blinking, reminding you to start typing. Your mind is empty. You want to close your eyes and curl up in a ball on the bed. Or maybe, your mind is full of so many things that there is no space to focus on your story. The story has folded it’s arms, tipped its chin up and said: “Yeah, you’re really not in the right place to create me now, come back later” and turned its back on you.

I have felt this increasingly these past six weeks, from the middle of May to late June. Deadlines for my PhD, increasing anxiety about failing to juggle two novels at once; that by focusing on the edits and querying of my second novel I am neglecting my PhD. I will fall behind on the new novel and fail. Need an extension, or go half time. I feel the increasing stress about my upcoming visit to Sweden; a whistle stop catchup with friends, packing everything I can fit into my suitcases in my childhood bedroom before my parents move, donating and throwing away the rest. I feel the deep pain of missing my partner - long distance relationships are felt more during duress and stress. I wish I could be with him, so my anxiety could be alleviated. I get done with waiting, even though we both know our patience will be rewarded.

I have never really believed in writer’s block. For me it’s a construct to explain why you haven’t been able to create or write at any certain time. The urge and inspiration to write is always there for me: I know what it is I want to set out to do, everything is clear in my head and when I start writing I feel that the words are right. They feel good.

The “problem” is that they come out so slowly. I have never been a speed writer, never been one of those authors who share Instagram updates of my 5000 word a day writing spree. If I’ve done 1500 words in a day I’m happy. 1000 words a day is average.

On days with anxiety or burnout, I’m happy if I reach 500. Every individiual word is a win. It can take me over an hour to write one paragraph. Thoughts and fears will hijack me, I will pull at my hair and pick at my nails and sometimes cry. I will twist and pull at my fidget toy until I fear it will break. I will do all these things to sit through the storm, and then write one more paragraph. Take that, anxiety, I’m not done yet.

Writing with anxiety is a tug of war between bloodymindedness and meltdown. It is me sitting rigid in my chair, typing with vicisouness as if my laptop did me a great wrong. It is my body and mind sagging as I write, telling me that I am over working. It is me leaving the laptop mid scene, sometimes even mid sentence. It is me laying down, sleeping on it, or doing something that doesn’t require thinking, such as reading a book, cooking or drawing, sometimes while watching TV shows.

Most of all though, writing with anxiety is about returning. Picking myself up. breathing deeply, and sitting down at the desk again. Being consistent, but a slower pace. Slow concistency. Slow writing.

We need more slow content on social media. Normalize that we can’t all be writing machines every day.

Peace out. Write 100 words. Tomorrow it may be 200, 1000, or 50, or maybe just 1. But there will always be words.