The writer in me.

Today I felt a spark for the first time in a couple of weeks. I read something and in response to it I felt the energy in my body move and my mind fill with words that want to be put onto a page, read and really heard.

I haven’t written or shared in a while. It happens often, a lull, a lack of words, of voice, of anything to say. I’m aware today of some relief. I always wonder, every time, if I’ve written my last story, felt for the last time, the swirling of words, ideas, sentences asking to be transferred and transformed onto a page. I am aware today of not wanting to be worried or scared about this anymore, of not wanting to need to apologise or even acknowledge the time that has passed, the gap between the last thing I wrote and now.

I know and I trust that I have maintained my practice, nurtured the writer in me by nurturing myself as a whole. By checking in and hearing a lack of noise, chatter and enjoying the silence rather than forcing and wrestling with words like blocked and uninspired. By moving through what is in front of me and trusting that what comes up, even when it is nothing, is what is most important. There has been so much creativity and inspiration flowing through and around me the past couple of weeks. I have nothing to show for it here, on a page, but plenty in the other areas of my life and plenty on the inside.

Space on the inside.

Clarity on the inside.

Pieces of puzzles aligned on the inside.

I have found ease with pages left blank when my energy is required elsewhere. I am reminded that consistency is key but ease and flow are the muse I must follow consistently.

A couple of weeks ago, when I first began to feel a pull inward, when I wrote about the need for and beauty of allowing that pull to bring us to rest in order to recharge- I actually had two huge weeks ahead of me.

I had an event to finish planning, to setup and pack down that would stretch me to my edges, a two day training and the travel involved in that, a dinner at our place with visitors followed by a weekend back up in the city a few days later.

The rest I was being pulled towards was required for me to get through it, to move through it and get the most out of it all. To enjoy rather than survive or resent. The rest, kept front of mind, sprinkled through, honoured and incorporated meant that I could do all of these things in the short timeframe and experience not being drained or damaged by them. I added some evidence to my memory, for my nervous system, that I can and how I can.

I cruised through- one thing at a time- listening to my body- expressing at all times along the way how I was going without guilt and accepting the love and support that was offered to me along the way- which wouldn’t and couldn’t have been if I had remained silent. I didn’t switch off from how I was feeling to push through. I didn’t micro-manage and overthink all on my own to the point of collapse. I didn’t follow the old patterns that I developed in my past to get through big, intense, things while making it look like I am not affected by them in any way. The patterns that eventually got me to a point of believing for a long time that I can’t do/handle/be that much.

And now I’m through. I have had time to settle, tidy up the things that I let go of for a little bit. I’ve had time to catch my breath and now I’m a couple of days out from a writing retreat that I booked on a whim, the day I wrote my last piece. Something in me knew and I knew to trust that something in me. It’s time to write now and so now there will be time to write.