Tag Archives: writer’s block

Are You There Blog? It’s Me, Wendy

WendyFunny thing happened this summer. I died.

It didn’t happen suddenly. It was a slow death I should have seen coming. A series of events, one after the other, that combined to take me away, piece by piece.

It started when I went to Massachusetts with Lucas and left my husband behind for 10 days. Despite being on vacation, a feeling of unrest followed me throughout my stay. No partner to tag in when Lucas worked my last nerve. No warm smile to share across the table.

Then I came home to California and left my son back in Massachusetts with my mom for 12 days. I knew he was having the time of my life, so that kept me going. But a week went by without my child. Then almost two. Without him, the world stood too still. The house was too clean. I felt nothing inside of me stirring. I tread water, barely keeping my head, as waves of loneliness washed over me. I felt myself fading.

During that time, I ran out of the painkillers that I rely on to deal with chronic back pain. I went two and a half weeks without them, powering through just-under-the-skin raw inflammation and bone deep dull joint pain. I had been tested emotionally—now it was time for the physical. My head dipped below the water but I fought to stay afloat.

Then I managed to return to what felt like a hostile work environment—one that threatened to swallow me whole. A particularly hellish two weeks tested my capacity to handle challenges with grace and fortitude. I drowned in work and stress reached a fever pitch.

Then something happened that killed me dead. I’m a writer by profession, but despite cranking out hundreds of words a day, I  stopped writing.

This whole time, I haven’t been me. I’ve either had too much or too little. And my blog, this microcosm of me, has sat at the back of my mind like a tiny nuisance, a phantom hair tickling my arm. How could I write for fun when I had nothing important or funny to say? When my heart was in two different places or my body was exhausted from fighting back pain or my brain was spent from juggling copywriting and product updates and work politics and board of director bios?

A week went by without writing for fun. Then two. Then a month. I thought about giving it up for good. After all, it would be one less thing I’d have to worry about. It made all kinds of logical, practical sense. Why am I even doing this, anyway?

Then I took a huge, gasping breath and felt my heart beat in my ribcage again. It’s faint, but it’s there.

Some things happened this summer that made me forget who I am and what I want. They weren’t big things, which is why I couldn’t tap into grief or anger or frustration or any kind of identifiable emotion that I could capture here on this blog. Little things that conspired to make me give up on my creative pursuits. To doubt in my ability to do or be something more than I already am. I knew I wasn’t content. But for the first time, I was purposefully not pressing forward.

And to me, that might as well be dead. So I’ll keep trying, even though it feels like trudging backwards and in heels through molasses. I’ll put words on this blog, if only to remind myself that I’ve got to find something else left.

My family is back together. My prescription for painkillers has been refilled, and relief is here. Work continues to be stressful, but the worst of it seems to have let up (for now). All is not right with the world, but I’ve got to make it right.

And the first step is talking to you, dear blog. Are you there? It’s me. Wendy.

I Got Nothing!

Confession: when I’m happy and/or simply content, I have jack-ass shit to write about.

The boy is being precious. I had a lovely anniversary weekend. Work is going swimmingly. I have absolutely nothing to complain about…except the regular stuff everyone has to complain about. And how interesting is that?!

Look! This is me having fun! Very enjoyable weekend = very bland blog.

Oh! I’m super tired because I had an awesome time going out for dinner, tailgating, and watching the Giants get destroyed at AT&T park this weekend! I’m sure you all feel really bad for me.

Oh! My kid is obsessed with watching this one terrible Hulk cartoon on Netflix. Yeah, let’s write a blog about that.

Oh! I’m getting an epidural steroid shot on Wednesday. I’m a little nervous! That’s about all I can say on that topic.

This is the danger of running a personal blog. Sometimes you just don’t have a whole lot interesting going on, but it’s important to update your page with something, anything, so people don’t forget about you. And oh how quickly they forget. On the Internet, you’re only as good as your last post. And even if your last post went viral, your next post better not be a stinker, otherwise people are moving on.

But here I am. Writing away. And I got nothing.

I got nothing

There’s only one other time you might find me tongue-tied on this here blog, and that’s when there’s stuff going on that crosses my hey, this will be on the Internet forever so maybe I don’t want to write about it boundary. And since I’ve written about miscarriage, morbid fantasies, the death of my cousin, and awkward office sex talk, you know it’s pretty juicy if I’m not sharing it here. Sometimes it’s just not my secret to tell. Other times it is mine, but it’s in my or my family’s best interest to keep it to myself.

So what do you do when you’re either content or carrying around a secret you can’t share? You sit back and let the other people around you do the talking. You listen. You smile. You send up a little thanks to the universe for easing up on you for a bit. And you hold your breath because Lord knows the next big thing might be just around the corner.

…and if all else fails, I’m sure that epidural shot will yield SOME drama worth writing about! You all know my luck with doctors. If this shot actually helps with my pain, it will be a goddamned miracle. Which means I may have to start posting Italian recipes on this blog or some shit.