I Can't Write

Tricking my brain into words. Or, a litany of excuses 🤷‍♀️

Hey friend,

I can’t write because pregnancy has turned my brain to mush. My brain comprises tangles and ties, gullies and gulches. One thought is entwined with another thought. It’s too hard to extract just one and corral it into coherence on the page. 

I can’t write because I’m napping an hour every day. My iron is in a healthy range. I am furious. I wanted a pill or an iron infusion to fix the exhaustion so I could get back to my life. My midwife suggested I look at my schedule. She doesn’t know I already culled it back. I don’t want to learn about weakness and rest and seasons again. I don’t want to learn patience again. I forgot that even a healthy pregnancy is tiring. 

Photo by Unseen Studio on Unsplash

I can’t write because pregnancy is rapidly expanding and encroaching on my calendar. It is taking all my energy to remember to take prenatal supplements, to do the stretches for my painful hips, to eat protein, to drink more water, to buy orthotics, to eat more fibre, to get a blood test, to book an ultrasound, a GP appointment, a midwife appointment, or a physio appointment.

I can’t write because I’m using the dregs of my brain cells to play Calendar Tetris. I ask, “How can I get to this appointment?” amongst work, parenting, school run, running a women’s bible study, Saturday Family Bible study, coordinating a ministry, food shopping, keeping my household in a presentable state, and trying to have a conversation with my husband. AusKick is coming. 

I can’t write because I feel guilty for working so hard at something that is not paid work. Writing makes me feel like myself. I love it. But sometimes I feel guilty for putting it on the calendar. 

I can’t write because I have to write a report for work and today is the only day free to write it. 

I can’t write because I’m scared I’m annoying people by writing so much. I’ve started to notice a churn in my subscribers, people unsubscribing and others subscribing. I don’t know what to do with this. 

I can’t write because we don’t have any fruit. 

I can’t write because I feel ashamed that I write a lot. I worry there is something wrong with me, like other women must be attending to motherly responsibilities that I forgot. 

I can’t write because I was caught up reading on Substack. 

I can’t write because I haven’t been to the ocean in two weeks thanks to a rainy Sunday and a blistering hot Sunday. It’s surprising how helpful being out in nature is to creativity. 

I can’t write because I’m scared I’ll run out of words. That I will press the dopamine button too many times and my brain will say, “We’re done here.” 

I can’t write because I’ve been sick with a cold and all I can do in pregnancy is water, Panadol, rest, and repeat. 

I can’t write because I am scared I will lose words in postpartum and everyone will unsubscribe. I know postpartum is a season—but it’s a brutal one. I’m scared I won’t be able to carve out time to write. But writing makes me feel like me. 

Thanks

Tell Me A Story That's True

for the prompt. Check out

Annelise Roberts

’ take on it here. 

Related: I’m Tired of Learning Patience, I Want to Learn Something New, The Caterpillar Flail, and I’m Throwing a Pity Party (Only I’m Invited).