Waaay back when at university, I took procrastination to such extreme levels that I’d have to wake up in the middle of the night to finish a particularly heinous essay.
But it wasn’t always like that.
Writing used to be pure flow and all bliss. I’d taught myself to read before I went to school. So writing felt like the most natural, intuitive thing in the world.
I spent my early childhood wandering around by the river dreaming up stories or curled up in a chair, filling notepads full of tall tales.
Once I started school, though, things changed.
Writing became more of a head-based, performative thing. And I found I could perform well (at the expense of my nervous system -
hello, IBS!), getting a string of A’s and being accepted into one of the most-hyped post grad courses at university. Part of the hype was:
You’ll be so busy, you’d never sleep.
I remember asking a time management expert our department had gotten in to help us with our insane workload, “When do we have time to just…
live?” He looked me dead in the eye and said:
'You can’t think like that if you want to be an adult.'
In my career as a journalist, copy- and content writer, there was no choice - with layoffs around every corner, working longer and faster seemed like the only way to survive.
But survival mode left me anxious and creatively blocked. I tried following popular writing advice, which involved a lot of army-style terms like 'bootcamp' and 'smash your writer’s block'. Rather than motivating me, it made me feel overwhelmed, out of my depth, and ready for a movie marathon with extra chips.