More than a Fighter, More than a Writer

The older I get the more I struggle not to get wrapped up in a single identity. I’m more than bipolar, more than a girl with OCD, more than a writer. The last one may surprise you. Being a writer is not a bad thing of course. It has saved me many times- from my disorders, from dysfunctional relationships, from myself. But today I told my dad I was thinking about getting back into jewelry making and he said he thought I was “stretched too thin” and should focus on my writing. This hit me hard because I usually feel guilty whenever I’m not writing. I have put writing above my health, writing when I’ve had the flu, Covid or a fever even though I feel like I might drop dead any minute.

The thing is I’m more than a writer. I love crafting, singing, knitting, playing piano, reading, studying sign language and assembling Legos. All of these things bring me joy. They aren’t my calling the way writing is but I enjoy them. I also have to be careful to not burn myself out. Recently, I’ve been working on short stories and poems. It is harder to get burned out working on those than a novel or memoir but I’d still prefer to avoid it. 

I’m holding myself accountable for not spending hours at my desk. I will go outside to read in the sunshine. I will spread my collages out and go to town with the stickers. I will make a trip to Michael’s for jump rings and Diamond Art. I wouldn’t say I have writer’s block but ignoring writing usually is enough to get the juices flowing. I hope.