You’re not really "confused" about that big quandary in your life or career, are you?
In writing as in life, we often tell ourselves “I’m stuck” when what we actually are is unwilling to do what’s necessary to meet our own needs.
“How much of my time should I spend on x?”
“How should I do y? Should I be doing it at all?”
“Why can’t I z?”
“Why am I so stuck on [project]?”
“What should I do?”
A big part of my job involves helping authors parse through career questions like the above. And a big part of my life involves tripping over them myself.
In the past hour alone—THE PAST HOUR ALONE—I have faceplanted into the following life questions, anxieties, and minor to medium-sized executive tasks:
Why haven’t I executed on paying myself like I know I need to? Mama needs money!
Why didn’t I log expenses in real time this year like I said I would, so I wouldn’t have to spend 16 hours in weeping spreadsheet agony at tax time? Why am I not getting started on that now?
Do I want that vinyl wrap on my new car so much that the desire is worth two primo MacBooks’ worth of expense and a week of having no car?
What is wrong with me that I still haven’t finished [half a dozen manuscript reading tasks I’d hoped to finish before Thanksgiving]?
When am I going to make those candles I said I would send people?
Why am I lying here hungry on the couch when there are snacks 10 feet away?
As usual, I’ve been telling myself my problem is that I don’t know The Answers and berating myself for not just coming up with The Answers. I tell myself it’s because I need to do more research or ask someone else with more information. Maybe The Answers are in a book or archival Reddit post from another person who’s been there.
For most of my adult life, I have struggled with anxiety and shame about “not knowing what to do” on afternoons like this. And despite the fact that I now know better after many years of study and therapy, I have never quite stopped pretending that I truly don’t know what to do.
That’s a lie. Lack of information or experience is not at all my problem. This “stuckness” about which I profess to be so anxious is OBVIOUS DEFENSIVE EGO KABUKI BULLSHIT, ANNA.
Do you know what the answer is to literally every problem I’ve listed above? It’s that I’m fucking tired! And hungry! But mostly just tired. I need more sleep and downtime than most adults, and I haven’t been getting it. My brain is running on fumes. And I can’t even begin to execute on answers (or even communicate about it!) until I get some sleep.
Day after day—forever, really—I’ve prioritized my shame and neuroses over my basic biological needs. I’ve refused to acknowledge that my reality is real because, well, I find it embarrassing.
Who needs to deal with the disbelief, judgment, and impatience of other people (AND MYSELF) when I acknowledge my own weird needs out loud (AND IN MY OWN HEAD)? Who would do that when one can just…not?
Well, as of afternoon, the “not” has rendered peanut butter of my brains. My real problem is not unlike most of my authors’ in that way. I bet it is also not unlike yours.
Let’s talk about how all this applies to you and your problems now.