resistance
At the start of the school year, my eight-year-old son was waking up in the morning not wanting to do anything. (Unless it’s Saturday.)
On a weekday: “I hate school! It’s torture! I don’t want to go there!” (And I later hear from his teacher that he loves learning and participates in class all the livelong day.)
Or: “I hate after-school! It’s stupid! We can’t play on the computer!” (I pick him up at 5:30 and he complains that I picked him up too early, he wants to stay and play kickball, he’s having so much fun.)
Or a Sunday: “I don’t want my grandparents to come over!!” (He plays whiffle ball with his grandfather for like two straight hours.)
It was driving me completely crazy until I realized this morning, while writing this, that writing is the same for me.
Every single morning, I don’t want to write.
I have to drag myself to my computer. I put myself through my ritual: make decaf coffee with oat milk, journal, light a candle, open my manuscript document, put on music, set a timer for twenty minutes.
The whole time my brain is like I don’t wanna! I don’t wanna! I don’t wanna!
Then I disappear into my book and write until the timer goes off.
Resistance is the brain’s fear of the unknown. My brain doesn’t know how writing is going to go today. It’s like, sure, I always find *something* to write about, but maybe today will be the exception!
My brain doesn’t know exactly what is going to come out of today’s writing session.
And so it stalls. Procrastinates. Makes up excuses. Checks email for the millionth time.
Because responding to email is EASIER for my brain than entering a creative brain space and playing.
So I treat my brain the way I treat my son in the mornings: with compassion, and a sturdy, no-nonsense attitude.
“I know you hate school, that must be really hard, now it’s time to brush your teeth. I know you want to stay home and watch TV, that’s not an option today, let’s put your shoes on.”
It sounds like this for me:
“I know you don’t feel like writing today. You didn’t sleep well and you’re tired… you have a lot of other work to do… you’re writing a chapter where your character is going through something hard… we’re still going to make coffee and light a candle and open the document and type for twenty minutes.”
I just don’t engage in my brain’s drama anymore.
It’s less exciting, I’ll admit. There’s less suspense: will I write or won’t I?
It’s steady. Kinda boring, honestly. That’s how I know I’m doing it right.
Carry on!
Want to spend six months with me listening to your book and learning how to channel in deeper and deeper ways? Make sure you’re on the waitlist for my Writing Brave Mastermind. I’ve got a couple events coming up this month exclusively for folks on the waitlist, including a Meet Your Editors panel.