Take Your Meds

by | Aug 5, 2018 | Blog

Recently, a friend asked for my best writing advice. Her question brought me back to all the suggestions I’ve heard since 1994 when I first began my journey away from the practice of law and into the dark unknown of wordsmithing. Like me, she is bipolar.

Perhaps she expected me to talk about craft or motivation. Maybe she thought I would suggest a book or a course or some external structure to help her learn to put words on the page in the proper order. I’ve asked for all that myself and received many fabulous tips.

Instead, I told her, “Take your meds.”

She stared blankly at me so I continued.

“Do not stop. Do not go off them even if you are worried about weight gain or dampened emotions. Do not stop even if you fear they jeopardize your creativity. Take your meds. You cannot write if you’re dead.”

Her eyes opened wide. Yes. I had surprised and perhaps confused her. But she nodded.

I was, of course, remembering the times I’d quit taking the antidepressants and mood stabilizers I’ve been prescribed since 1994, about the same time I left the practice of law. Each time, stopping the meds seemed like a great idea. Even going on meds to begin with was a huge struggle. Why didn’t meditation fix me? Or recovery? Couldn’t I exercise my way into mental health? [That one still creeps into my mind occasionally.]

I specifically recalled three years in Taos when I’d tried to do mental health “the natural way” whatever that means. I tried Sam-E and long walks on the mesa with our two dogs. It wasn’t long before I was suicidal and so filled with anxiety that I could not bear to be alone. I rode with my husband through the Rio Grande Gorge to his evening classes in Santa Fe because I was so afraid of the darkness, most of which was in my mind.

And during each of the times I’d gone off my meds, I could not write at all. And once I went back on meds, it took a very long time to regain what I’d had before. I truly have lost entire years to this folly.

So, I’m not a doctor (but I am a lawyer – CYA alert) and your mileage may vary so please, consult your mental health professionals. Maybe you don’t need meds at all.

But if they have been prescribed, please take them. Please.

As I told my friend. Simply continue and you will find your path, but only if you take your meds.

Hope and Work

by | Apr 4, 2018 | Blog

“As far as I’m concerned, the entire reason for becoming a writer is not having to get up in the morning.” — Neil Gaiman

I’ve got it again. You know, that thing you get when things are going well and people ask for stuff and if you give it to them your dreams might come true? Yes. Imposter syndrome. I’ve got it in spades.

It took a friend to diagnose it. All I knew was that I felt like crap. I felt like there was sludge in my veins and no ideas would come. I felt scattered too all at the same time. I was a spinning slug. Tears filled my eyes as I told my friend that a publisher had expressed interest in my book, Twenty-Six Point Freaking Two. But I had to send an email with additional marketing information and I had to send it that day. And my mind said, “Nope. You can’t do this. It’s too hard.” And worse, “You’re not worthy. Why would they want your work?” I felt like a fraud.

This is not the first time I’ve encountered imposter syndrome. The entire decade I practiced law, despite having huge successes in many cases, bringing in lots of money for the firm, and eventually being asked to become a partner, I kept waiting for them to figure out I had no idea what I was doing. And even though the feeling is familiar once I recognize it, that initial jolt always blindsides me.

I wonder if imposter syndrome is peculiar to women or perhaps to writers or artists in general. I wonder if it’s worse when you’re already bipolar with a general slant toward the depressive mindset. But this newsletter has to go out today. I’ll let you research those things.

Thankfully, once I knew what it was, the solution was obvious. Suit up and show up. Bring the body and the mind will follow. Do the work.

And so I did.

And now the email has been sent and the newsletter (including this essay) is in process and tomorrow there will be the monthly bills and the rest of the taxes and whatever reminders come up on the manuscript submission tickler system and more of the same on the next day and the next.

Meanwhile, I wait. I hope, and always, I work.

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