Yesterday marks the beginning of the 2016/17 family routine. Hallelujah. We made it through the ever-changing matrix of summer. The here-there-everywhere pickups and dropoffs and scrambling for childcare.
This was our first go at a public school summer. This next one, we vow, will be different. We’ve got some sweet plans afoot–coordinating with friends and neighbors on childcare, so we can approximate that shining jewel, the timeless summer of our youth which was held together by so many moms who stayed home. We’ll see how that all goes. I’m hopeful, as I often am about things that are 9 months down the line.
As for now, I’m just waiting for the soothing balm of routine to sink in. That way that you can start to anticipate pockets of time. That way you can have an idea for something to write or plant or make and know, without a doubt, that there is a time coming soon when you can have at it.
This summer and all of its twists and turns has laid waste to my creativity. So much so that yesterday, when I finally tasted that first uninterrupted time for myself, I mostly avoided writing even though I’ve been dreaming of it for weeks. I shopped online, scheduled my semi-annual haircut, looked for a desk on craigslist so that I can have a small corner of my own in the bedroom. I did all of these things while the option to write was looming. And just like some cliché romance, when I could finally have the object of my longing, I got all sweaty palmed and nervous, and looked the other way.
Too much anticipation perhaps?
A back-log of ideas, rendering my creative mind sluggish?
Hypercritical internal voice, with a lack of empathy for the demands of raising small children over a chaotic summer?
If any other woman on earth told my story to me, I would douse her with buckets of compassion and kindness.
Of course you spent that time doing small, frivolous, self-care type things because you’ve had no time for that. Of course the writing feels intimidating now because you’re out of practice. Of course. But never fear. You can’t escape your own creativity. Just keep showing up when you have some time and listen. And in the meantime, go get your effing hair cut and prepare to receive some packages in the mail from that sweet online shopping binge.
If only my inner voice thought I was someone else. Then I would bask in soft comforts, drink tea and take naps. Instead, I walk away from the first break I’ve had in weeks feeling anxious and humiliated.
In much the same manner that I script my kids into emotional intelligence on a daily basis, I will now script my nasty little inner voice.
Hey there, Self. I know you’re used to being a total asshole to me, but I’d like you to try something different. Something like this:
It’s more than okay that you’re not bursting with creativity right now. There are seasons for everything because nothing, I repeat, nothing bears fruit all the time. Fallow periods are for tending the soil. So tend away. Inspiration knows what she’s doing. Just tend the soil. And keep listening. You’re doing just fine. Really. Here’s a hug. And a snack. And some slippers.