On Becoming a Buff Bard

 

 Writing is as sedentary as it gets.

Sure, while drafting you can travel across the world, to other planets, or to even different dimensions, but it’s all from the coziness of your chair. Don’t get me wrong, I love that. Especially with a steaming cup of tea at hand. But having both a sedentary job and a pastime wasn’t doing me any favours.

I was always stiff, my back ached constantly, and I wasn’t eating as well as I could have been. Late nights drafting and editing meant that I’d have something quick and easy. Usually heavily processed, too.

I had an on-and-off again relationship with the gym. I wasn’t consistent, even with the benefits I was receiving from regular exercise. For those that don’t know, I have high functioning anxiety and depression. Exercise truly helps me beat those two into submission with some fantastic endorphins. Not only that, but I actually enjoy health and fitness.

Stop rolling your eyes.

I get it.

A lot of people hate exercise in general, and this post isn’t to tell you how to live your life, or tell you what a great job I did getting thicc and sexy. I just wanted to share some benefits all of us can use. More importantly, all of us sedentary writer folks can use. Working out is for more than vanity and throwing money at diet culture. It’s a great benefit to so many aspects of our lives, especially creatively.  

For example, me loving cardio? It clears my mind. I found myself zoning out during my sessions on the elliptical, and suddenly, a plot hole from my current work in progress would scream at me from across the void between my ears. Or if I was stuck on a scene, the solution would figuratively tap me on the shoulder like it was there all along. And better yet, if I exhausted myself enough, my mind wouldn’t be racing late into the night from all of that work.

I’m sure we’ve all experienced that before at some point. The racing thoughts as we brainstorm, write, or edit. If not reined in, they can stretch into the wee hours of the morning. It’s merciless unless I have a proper physical outlet. For me, that’s a ton of cardio … and lifting some heavy ass weight.

In 2020, I started to fall in love with weightlifting and strength training. It was something I had done previously, but not with the same level of knowledge or consistency. Actually focusing on building muscle was one of the best things I could have ever done. It helped me with routine, consistency, and discipline. I could see change. I could see progress.

As a writer, this was huge. If you’re someone like myself who aims to be traditionally published, you hear the word subjective so many times that you objectively hate it. You can write something amazing, but if gatekeepers don’t think it’ll sell, you may not get a literary agent or even published. When it came to growing muscle, so long as I put in the work and ate enough protein, I had growth. I had change. There was nothing subjective about it. I saw results.

It affected me mentally, too. Going to the gym can be daunting, even for someone who has spent a lot of time in it. But what’s even more daunting, is going to the weightlifting side of the gym. It felt like being transported to an alien planet where the inhabitants were swole bros and old men wearing suspiciously short shorts.

At first it was challenging being in front of them and trying new exercises. Being vulnerable in front of strangers is difficult. You don’t want to look weak, or stupid, or totally out of your element. It sucks. I even remember the first time I was trying to lift a 44-pound bar for a front squat. In the mirror, I could see a greasy boomer chuckling behind me. He watched me struggle to not crush my own windpipe with the bar. I lived to tell the tale and never saw that guy again after.

Most people at the gym don’t judge you, and the rare few that do have their own problems. Overcoming being worried about what other people thought about me raised my confidence. I stopped caring how other people saw me, and focused more on doing my own thing. I can even strike up friendly conversation at the gym these days if I feel so inclined. If you’re an introvert or shy like some of us writers are, it’s a huge achievement. It’s perfect practice for networking in person when it comes to writer conferences. And, I dunno, maybe a good way to prep for when you’re at your first book signing, sitting a table all by yourself in a book store as people pass by?

That said, you don’t have to go to the gym and pump iron or be a cardio bunny. The goal isn’t to become a svelte Instagram fitness model, but to be more active to reap the mental benefits. (But hey, you do you. Just follow me back, ‘kay?) You can go for walks, dance, do yoga, splash around in a pool, or even play Frisbee with the family. Any kind of movement is worthwhile, and if you find something you love, you’ll look forward to it.

Hell, you might even grow in more ways than one. 

I know I did.

Take care!

Losing Myself: The Greatest Vanishing Act

This might be stating the obvious, but … I’m not Harry Houdini.

Or David Blaine.

Or Criss Angel.

Hell, I don’t even show up to kids’ parties to pull rabbits out of a hat. (Does anyone do that anymore, COVID aside? That always struck me as weird, and never in a fun way.)

But from 2020 to now, I’ve managed to make myself all but disappear. Well, mostly. Namely on some social media. This post is to go over why I’ve stayed away from Twitter, my blog, and other important aspects of my life, like writing.

Disclaimer: This is gonna be long. Get yourself a snack. Brew some coffee. Steep tea. Whatever you prefer. And I will also discuss my mental health, so if you’re not prepared to deal with that today, maybe come back another time.

I don’t think I need to explain 2020 in regards to social media. Not in great detail, anyway. It was largely of hotbed of asshattery and explosive anger, some of it warranted. I dropped away from Twitter because, frankly, it can be a cesspit. Everything reminded me of crabs in a bucket, people constantly attacking each other, and bringing one another down. Granted, it’ll probably always be like that. (But I think I’m gradually getting better at avoiding batshit right-wingers going on about how women, POC, and vaccines are all a part of some conspiracy. I dunno which conspiracy, so I will just assume ALL OF THEM.)

So I kept to places like Instagram, which I found to be an easier platform to digest. I even stuck to my Facebook, which is private and has a limited amount of friends. Facebook is still a steaming turd of a platform full of uneducated lunacy, but it was easier to choose what I was or wasn’t going to engage with. Ironically, because of that, that was where the biggest … erm … differences of opinions were. But I digress.

Social media aside, I was also overwhelmed with work. I began working on something that demanded a lot of leadership from me on top of regular duties, and so that took up all of my brainpower, energy, and focus. I was always drained. There was no work life balance, and I was miserable.

It forced me to stop writing. I was actually about seventeen thousand words into a WIP before I became entirely overwhelmed and shut down work on it. I had bad brain fog and my short term memory was trashed from burn out. I couldn’t even properly remember basic idioms. I didn’t have the energy to expend any brain power on writing. That hurt the most.

I’m not someone who talks about writing and getting traditionally published lightly. I’ve written two books and queried the both of them. While I didn’t land an agent or publication with those two books, I was loving my third novel and was excited to push through that shiny, new first draft. But I had to stop because I just simply couldn’t. It was absolute hell.

Maybe that doesn’t seem like much to an outsider, but other writers or artists get it. Being unable to do what you live for makes life miserable. Being a writer is a huge part of my identity. Not writing meant I was losing myself.

On the flip side, I was performing great at work, excelling at the job. I had a ton of accolades and I was encouraged to bid on permanently being in that role. But sometimes when you’re good at something, it isn’t good for you.

Eventually, I removed myself from the work project. My mental and emotional health weren’t well. And even though I know we all gained a little quarantine weight, I was upset that my problem with eating my feelings came back when I previously had it in control. There were other problems that came up, and I might write about them later. I don’t want to derail this post even more.

Then I got reacquainted with my original job until it was time for me to go on short term disability for surgery. Since I had a bad overbite, my lower jaw was broken, pushed forward, and bolted in place with some cadaver bone. The first week of recovery was hell. I was constantly on top of taking all of my meds, “eating” as best I could with a syringe, being unable to speak clearly with my jaw held in place by elastics, and getting the swelling in my face down with heat compresses.

Things got better after the first week, but even then it was hard to adjust to. I’m still in recovery as we speak, but at least at this point I can finally eat soft food. (I'm not even religious, but thank God!)

As difficult as everything was, good things that came from the past two years, too.

I took charge of things I hadn’t before and grew.

When it came to work, I became a better leader. Stepping up is second nature for me, and I did so. I took on lots of challenges and learned to work with all kinds of people. I loved that aspect of the job. And I did have some amazing people to work with. Even though times were hard, there were always great people.

I learned to face certain things fearlessly. Public speaking? Not a big deal anymore. Sharing my entire screen on the fly for an impromptu demo? Sure, why not? Learning to be social organically? That became fun — a big deal for an introvert like myself! Not only that, but I learned to reach out for help. That was massive.

I’m independent, vigilant, and guarded.

I don’t like asking for help. But I learned. Not just professionally, but on a personal level, too.

I always knew why I was the way I was on a surface level, but this time around I got help and actually understood my behavior. It took being overwhelmed for me to start dealing with problems I’ve had from childhood. For example, I could see some of my positive traits of mine turning ugly. My vigilance was mutating into hypervigilance from stressors, something I hadn’t experienced since I was much younger.

(I’ll take this as an side to mention that I do recommend for anyone with a troubled childhood to talk to a professional about it. You might not realize how much it affects you daily until you speak to someone knowledgeable. I’m always about self improvement, and healing is a powerful tool to have in your arsenal.)

That, and the biggest change that I fully embraced was weight lifting. It was something I had done on and off for years, but never did with as much knowledge or consistency until I took the plunge. If it wasn’t for physical activity, I wouldn’t have handled all of the stress as well as I did. I thrive off of routine, discipline, and dedication. Weightlifting offered me that. It was my steady go-to when everything else was total chaos. That said, things certainly became more difficult when facilities were closed for lockdowns, but I managed as best I could.

So, that sums up the last two years for me. I spent it (over)working and working out. In doing so, I made the writer disappear.

But now the trick is bringing her back.

It’s exactly the magic I need in my life. Smoke and mirrors are overrated. Screw all of the parlour tricks and stages.

I only need a blank document, my imagination, and the conviction to do what I was truly made for.

 

Another disclaimer: The image isn't mine. It can be found on Shutterstock. 

Click here for Canadian resources for mental health.