According to the pictures that are occasionally taken of my insides, the main problem I run into with my Crohn’s is when inflammation causes some blockage which slows down my digestion.
That’s not really the kind of blockage I’m thinking about today – or perhaps it is, since I’ve been able to think about little else during the painful past weeks. My middle has been aching, I have a weak appetite but am famished, and I am exhausted by dusk. And when dusk falls, though it’s a bit later every evening, the freezing temperatures that plague us through the daytime take on a deeper chill, and I don’t want to move.
Which is to say I’m not writing much. A flash of inspiration at mass on Sunday night had me racing home to write it out. As I huddled under afghans, waiting for the heat to kick in while wearing the sweats I had run through the dryer before I put them on, my words and pen danced around the outside of what I wanted to say, and I felt lame for not being able to capture the magic that had occurred a few hours earlier.
The thought crossed my mind this week: maybe I’ve said all I have to say. I have written about loving my family, I have written about my relationship with my voice, I have written about learning to love my body, I have written about fighting depression, I have written about loss, I have written about rediscovering myself as a person with a chronic illness, I have written about being in a long-distance relationship.
I have written, which I never expected to do when I started a travel blog five-plus years ago. In the thrill of discovering my authorial voice I thought that ease of expression would last me forever. I have learned that there are fallow seasons, and that there’s no such thing as writer’s block, just a failure of daring and effort.
Sometimes you just have to sit down and write, which is exactly what I’m doing, because another round of snowfall has given me a morning at home.
I have written about giving myself a break. I have written about hope and patience. I have learned from myself.
It is peculiar for me to be quiet, to not have an opinion I’m dying to share. I have survived more shocking peculiarities. I know I will survive this one too.
When you feel unproductive do you force yourself out of it or lean into it? How do you survive the winter blahs?
Exceptionally beautiful piece Margaret. I, too often, yield to my depression and procrastination and blame one for the other… it usually doesnt matter which. But you are an inspiration. Peace, prayers, loving smiles !!!
Thank you so much, Frank! Let’s both be sure to keep on writing.
I shall. In fact, after reading your blog i exited my funk for a period and composed another poem. Not the most upbeat of my works, but at least it helped to get thoughts out and on paper !! Thank you. Peace, Health, Perserverance 🙂
I am sure you have not said all you have to say. I think for a writer there are times of gathering when they are not writing. Through whatever life is putting you through you are gathering ideas, and experiences of which while dormant now will at some point form together into something you want to share. I dont think you are being unproductive.. you are just doing the work that is not seen for a while…. Gathering……
Gathering – what a perfect description! Thank you so much for this image.
Oh Margaret, your voice is so rich, I am grateful for all that you have written.
I myself usually fall into some silence around this time of year – well, blockage really – of the writer’s sort, but some time ago, I changed blocked to silent.
It can be an invitation, so just do what you must. And take care of yourself!
Thanks for all that you give us, what a generous way to live.
This (have I said everything I have to say?) is exactly how I felt four or five years after I’d started blogging.
I’d written some surprisingly (to me) articulate & emphatic stuff, answered (responded to) the rants/issues in my blogging circles, and didn’t feel focused enough in my content to do all the “supposed to”s of blogging (which was supposed to grow my readership).
I did end up keep writing (8 years at the end of this month), but I think for me it meant stepping away from responding, and walking forward (sometimes blindly, always in faith) to do my own exploring.
And really, knowing I was done writing — had said what I wanted to about *that* stuff– was a good thing, because it meant going on to the next thing, which was a good thing, too.
Thank you so much for sharing your experience. A lot of it resonates with me. I needed this encouragement!