Posts Tagged ‘writing your life’


This is not my actual cork board.

This is not my actual cork board.

You:  You don’t write much anymore, Tabitha.

Me:  No, I don’t.

You:  I miss it.

Me:  So do I.


That this blog space has sat dormant since August 2014 breaks my heart.  I have sat here at my desk, arms limp at my sides, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen, with my mind totally paralyzed.  I need to write about this, this and this, I say to myself.  I mentally tag these things on invisible scraps of paper and peg them to my mind’s cork board for safe keeping.  This, I think, will keep my mind organized and clear, the idea out of my mental space and on the cork board.  Except I never actually transfer them tophysical cork board, so the thoughts keep rolling around inside my skull.

Thinking + not doing = paralysis

This morning I thought I would jot down all of the things that have happened since August 28, 2014, the last post on this blog.  The list looked like this:  my grandmother died; the indignities of dying in hospital; quitting the office job; dying friendships; divorcing my father; the impact of being the adult child of a parent with mental illness; supporting a partner whose mother is dying; “Let’s talk about what happens when she dies, honey.  Where will you need me to be?  How can I best support you through that time?”; the guilt-laden phone call “Your father is in hospital.  You need to go see him.”;  Fuck You – the chapter that comes after being told I need to go see my father; I’m a Horrible Person – the chapter that comes after Fuck You…

There are a lot of magical things thrown in there as well but these things listed above are the heavy, loaded things that are begging for my attention.  Who in their right mind would want to go near these things?  Really.  I imagine doing what writers do best – I take these topics, scribble them on paper, and tack them to a real cork board.  Then, every day, I touch one of them by writing about it, freeing up the energy in my heart and mind.  I check them off one by one.  I keep going.

When I consider the above topics scribbled on paper and tacked to a board, I see nothing but The Ugly Cork Board.  It is a chaotic, jumbled heap of shit staring me down.  It’s too easy for my wee mind to look at the ugly mess and say, “Why would you write about this heap?  Who in the hell wants to read about that ugly shit?”  Who indeed?

At the end of the day, at the very core of my being rests the Wise Self who knows it doesn’t matter if not one single person reads one single word that I put out there; it’s about me freeing myself from the cripplingly painful grip of so many things.  I would love to write about puppy dogs and bubble gum and I know that, to get there, I must wade through the muck.

*sigh*  How does one choose which hideous topic to touch first?  Perhaps I will conjure up a dart and chuck it at the board. Whatever topic the dart hits wins.  Come what may.

For now I think I shall sit here and stare blankly, unfeelingly, at The Ugly Cork Board.  What comes next?  We shall see.



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