Dear Huma: what do you find yourself reaching for when things feel overwhelming or tearful?
Hi friends,
This week, I wanted to answer a particularly poignant reader question that’s been in my inbox for a while, but it never quite felt like the right time to answer it. Now that I’ve finished my novel, I feel like I’ve got some perspective to answer it, so here it is.
Before we get into it all, just a quick lightning round up of what I’ve been reading(just finished Free Love, now reading Ruth & Pen); watching (Bad Sisters–watched the original many years ago and am loving this version also; also On The Verge because it’s Julie Delpy!); and thinking about (the floods in Pakistan; please, please donate here if you can; also that back to school feeling).
For now, back to the letter. Thank you to J for writing in and please don’t forget to keep sending your questions in! I hope to answer a reader question every other week, and you can ask me anything related to writing or otherwise by replying to this email. And now, here we go:
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Dear Huma
I wonder what you find yourself reaching for / going back to when things feel overwhelming or tearful or stressful during the writing process and simply with life in general? Are there any routines or rituals you revisit to ground yourself? To begin to feel more like yourself again?
From J
Dear J,
Ah, the writing/life overwhelm. I know it very well. Let’s just say there’s been a lot of tears, panic attacks and stress hives over the last few years. I am very much a work in progress when it comes to dealing with all of it, and taking care of myself in the process but I’m hoping that I’ve learnt, and am learning, things along the way. This will no doubt come as some relief to my husband who is also subscribed to my letters (hi) and has to watch when I go through all this, knowing that nothing he says or does can really help because I have to figure it out for myself. I think, though, that I’m making small progress. Somehow, by some miracle, I got through the last three months, the busiest summer of writing I’ve ever had, rewriting my whole book, without a single panic attack, and the only time I cried was when I actually finished. This is a first, and one I’m quietly proud of.
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The thing is, I know all the things people say you ought to do to look after yourself when writing/ life feels like a lot. I know all the suggestions; to step away from your writing, to take a break, listen to a podcast or an audiobook, take a walk, be kinder to yourself. But like most things, what might work for one person might not work for you, and also in reality it’s hard to calm yourself down do these things when you are literally in the overwhelm. My problem is I don’t always pay attention to myself, so I don’t always know what’s happening, or why I feel the way that I feel, until I’m right in the thick of it. And sometimes not even then.
So what I’m working on is like a very beginner’s guide to grounding myself. I’m trying to spot the signs that things are beginning to get a lot, before it’s too late. Mostly because it’s so tiring to feel like this so often and I am certain there must be a better way.
It’s taken me a while to begin to figure things out, but I’m finally more aware of my red flags of overwhelm and I can’t believe I didn’t notice them before.
For instance: it’s never a good sign if I feel constantly sick, or if I find myself getting up from my desk to snack every few minutes (a sign of restlessness that I’m channeling into bad food choices). It’s also never a good sign if I spend hours editing a single sentence, or just re-read my work from the very beginning again and again instead of moving it forward. These are just the little tell tale signs that something bigger is coming. But now I know them, I can in theory do something about them; stop what I’m doing or trying to do and do something else.
What do I do? Often any one of the things I mentioned above, often combined. So I’ll get out of the house, walk to my favourite neighbourhood cafe, listen to a podcast on the way, a book in my bag for when I get there. Or it might be as mundane as just walking to Waitrose to buy ingredients for dinner. Really what I’ve learnt is what I do is in a way insignificant; it’s the physical act of leaving my writing room, leaving the house, that’s most important.
Everyone’s red flags are probably different but it’s been a surprisingly insightful process to figure mine out; I’d recommend it. Mary Oliver wrote that we should pay attention and though I think she meant it in a more celebratory, inspirational way, I quite like the idea of spending a moment paying it to myself, taking a minute to consider the things that are perhaps less astonishing, making sure they are all okay.
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Before I was published, I was much better at all of this. I used to have what I called creative days when I’d spend a morning reading in a cafe or browsing a bookshop or watching a film. These days gave me a break, took me out of myself, inspired me to think about something in my work differently. I’ve missed these creative days, I haven’t had one in so long. I wish I’d made time for them when I was writing the various drafts of my novel, I think it would have been good for me to have had a break, but I’d convinced myself then that I had no time to do anything that took me away from writing. I’ve since learnt from this and this summer I made a point of keeping things balanced, writing in the morning followed by doing something nice in the afternoon. I recommend this. In fact, by the time you’re reading this, I’ll be having a creative day (otherwise known as going to the cinema by myself when the kids are in camp) after finishing writing this newsletter (which has taken an oddly long time), and I’ll be watching Official Competition.
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On the wall by my desk is a sticky note that says: Make lighter work of it. It keeps me in check, reminds me to not take things so heavily. I don’t know from where I got the line, but this little sentence means something to me. It’s not like a ritual, in that I don’t sit there and repeat it to myself, but it’s reassuring to see the words when I glance up and the sentence somehow finds me when I need it. At the very least, it’s much nicer than the sort of things my horrid inner critic might say. There’s a tendency to make fun of feel-good quotes or whatever you call them, but I think that’s unfair. I think of my little orange sticky note as a sort of north star. It brings me back to my writing when I start to feel lost.
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Tice Cin wrote about how she sent herself sweet little notes while she was writing her novel to keep herself going, to show herself compassion. I love that. The idea of showing compassion to myself is something I would love to do. I only wish my younger self had known to be so kind to herself was possible.
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And of course, there are all the other little ordinary things that have nothing to do with writing but which help me remember I’ve not completely lost the plot, literally and otherwise. Small little things that can seem insignificant–like washing my hair in the evening or making sure the kitchen is tidy before bed or doing my skincare or taking my vitamins–and yet are in their own way so significant. Because it’s the little things that always add up and more than anything, in a way, I know that for as long as I can continue to do the little things, then all the other things can’t surely be that bad.
I hope this helps. Until the next time, and before then, please don’t forget to send your questions in by replying to me; I look forward to answering the next one in a fortnight. If you’ve enjoyed this letter, please feel free to pass it on to anyone else you think might enjoy it, and if you think they’d like to subscribe, the link is here.
With love,
Huma
PS My short story writing course is nearly ready to go live. Lots of you have expressed an interest in this, so if there’s anything in particular that you’d like to see covered in it… please write back to me and let me know, I’d love to know I’ve got everything you’re looking for!