Writing a post on writer's block seems a little nonsensical, doesn't it? If I truly had writer's block, I probably wouldn't have anything to say at all - including anything about writer's block itself.
And it's true - I don't actually have writer's block.
I have something else, but I'm not sure what you would call it.
I have "motherhood is physically and emotionally draining, and I can't get myself to write anything worth reading"... block.
Sure, I still have stuff to tell you, but I can't drum up the motivation to write it.
Here's what I do have in me to tell you.
Being a mom is way harder than I ever imagined.
I love Phineas, of course, but he and I haven't found our groove yet.
He and James have, and I'm happy for them.
I am not maternal, and Phineas must know that. I have to work ten times harder to do the things that come naturally to James.
My time is coming. Preschool age on up is my time to shine. Kids think I'm really cool then, and I think they're hilarious.
I'm obviously going to keep working my ass off for Phineas even though he doesn't think I'm cool at all yet, but it sure is tough.
Mix in some postpartum depression and a year of COVID isolation, and you've got yourself one bummer of a time.
I feel like I have to keep repeating this, but I love Phineas... and I miss my old life. I miss the pre-COVID things that are also pre-baby things, like going on vacation or having drinks with friends. I also miss the regular every-day things, like having an actual conversation with James or watching a movie or reading a book.
I used to be into photography. I used to be a beast at making and selling jewelry. Of course, I used to write and write and write this blog. My ambition for creative hobbies has all but evaporated. I feel a little like I've lost my sense of self.
Thank god for work. I have not lost my identity as a librarian, and I am clinging to it with both hands. It's the lifeblood I need right now.
I know you're not supposed to wish your life away, but I'm wishing for this part to be done already.
I feel like a bad mom constantly. I know it's society's manufactured "truths" doing this to me, but I can't help but feel it. Everyone else seems so happy, but the secret to happiness escapes me.
So that's my writer's block.
I hope you understand.
