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.
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