Writing my way out of parenting lockdown hell
Writing my way out of parenting lockdown hell
2020: The moment everything swivelled
It’s March 2020 and I’m on the floor, lying among the tangled, unspooled tape of our lives. Covid has arrived in the UK and we’ve entered lockdown. Schools are closed, the kids are at home and we’ve got no childcare while we attempt to work remotely.
I know how lucky we are compared to most, yet my anxiety is through the roof. All my brain and body want – need – to do is shut down and sleep. But they can’t. I have to keep going. I have to keep caring for our kids. I have to hide my fear from them. Apparently I have to educate them whilst also working from home. WTF. I have to keep the food coming in and my family fed. I have to keep us, and those we love, safe.
Ads targeting me with messages about how much “spare time!” I must have feel like a slap to the face. Because I’m desperately craving some time to myself. To do something for me. Or, ideally, to do absolutely nothing for a while. I try joining a couple of virtual choirs but it’s impossible to concentrate with the kids running around and wanting to ‘sing’ along.
So my mind does its default thing: it tells me to write. And the only chance I find to do this is at night, once the children are in bed and I’m close to collapse. Yet writing feels instinctive, as if it’s a requirement. It feels as natural to me as worrying.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve always had an extra-curricular, non-fiction writing project on the go. Whether it was my daily diary I wrote between the ages of 13 to 33 (entries abruptly stopped when I had children), a blog about my favourite London drinking holes, or a hodgepodge collection of random thoughts when I moved to the capital as a (retrospectively annoying) twentysomething, I’ve always needed a channel through which I can organise and express my experiences and ideas.
During those early lockdown weeks, I felt the urge to document the period by writing a journal. It was disjointed and rough and a parenting memoir of sorts, capturing the moment our lives instantly swivelled.
It was around this time I found an online group that felt right for me to join: a brand new virtual community for writers who happen to be mothers. The idea was that we’d come together online every Sunday evening to chat for a bit before spending an hour writing in companionable silence. The imposter syndrome was real when I introduced myself for the first time, but I immediately felt at home thanks to the calm and welcoming vibe created by writing coach George, who ran the group.
During 2020 and beyond, these weekly co-writing sessions became my refuge. Some weeks I’d continue writing my pandemic journal. Others I’d work on complex essays, like this one about the role of social media in our increasingly polarised society. And, on more than one occasion, I’d rage-write angry letters to my MP about the government’s corruption and mishandling of an unprecedented public health crisis.
My writing was all over the place, but it always had one thing in common: the subject matter was dark, intense and anchored to the reality of my anxiety-riddled existence. And, after six months or so, I realised that, while writing as an act was helpful, I desperately needed to find a more upbeat subject matter. And that’s why, at the start of the winter 2020 lockdown, I started writing something completely different. Something that practically came out of nowhere. And something that immediately made my brain fizz with joy instead of magnifying my misery.
I began writing a piece of fiction. A book. And it was unlike anything I’d ever written before. It was a festive rom-com. But little did I know that it would have its own story to tell right back to me…
This month’s tip for other aspiring authors: Finding time to write as a mum is bloody difficult. That’s why Georgina Green’s writing group has been such a game-changer for me. Find out more here.
Currently reading: Impossible by Sarah Lotz*. This book. THIS BOOK. It’s like a funnier, smarter, geekier version of The Time Traveller’s Wife (speaking of which, they’re making a TV SHOW?!). I’m loving it SO MUCH and can’t remember the last time I whizzed through pages so quickly. I treated myself to a beautiful hardback and am so glad I did as I suspect this might get big, especially since it’s been optioned for a film by the director of the Oscar-winning CODA. You heard it here first!
What I recently enjoyed reading: I was so thrilled to beta read Holly June Smith’s debut novel. It was fun, moving and incredibly spicy 🍆. What’s ‘beta reading’ I hear you ask? It’s when authors bravely send seasoned readers their draft novel for honest feedback. I’ve beta read a few books now and I love doing it. If you’ve got something you’d like me to take a look at just drop me a line.
What I last enjoyed watching: Spider-Man: No Way Home. We rented this to watch over a couple of nights (#KnackeredParents), and it was so worth it. Sure, it could’ve done with being about half an hour shorter, but having somehow managed to evade all spoilers I can’t tell you how wonderful, surprising and touching so many moments of this movie are.
What I’ve been thinking a lot about: As a lifelong perfectionist I’m trying to get more comfortable with messing up. I’m working hard to remind myself that it’s OK to make mistakes. As long as I own them, learn from them and strive to do better.