I'm Still Here

In August, I moved out of state prior to the start of my graduate program. Since then, I have been beating myself up for not being able to write more personal essays for my newsletter.

I had a transcendent experience in mid-September in the middle of nature for a weekend of deep transformation. This happened on sacred ground in community with resilient women and those who identify as non-binary, that embodies what I tend to write about in my essays—the healing journey.

In mid-October, I attended a book reading event by one of my favorite alternative R&B artists Jessie Reyez. During the Q&A portion, my arm shot up various times in the dark and moody auditorium.

She announced that she was taking one final question and pointed in my general direction. A man behind me started speaking. She stopped him. “No, I’m pointing at the girl with the bag.”

I had a blue Colombian handwoven bag in my lap.

“Me?”

What a relief because I had something weighing on me. She just came off a concert tour for her latest album and was obviously working on a poetry book on the side. How does she switch between projects?

I explained that I was in graduate school for screenwriting but still felt passionate about my creative nonfiction writing. I was struggling to find the capacity to write those pieces.

Her recommendation was to switch locations to differentiate when I was writing scripts and writing essays. Train my brain to recognize when I was in one location and not the other.

Prior to this advice, she emphasized how difficult it must be to be in a graduate program for writing, her creative process wouldn’t withstand it.

Girl, let me tell you.

First, I liked her advice. It made sense to me. In recent years, my writing practice emerged writing for 45 minutes during my lunch breaks during the weekday.

Second, I would quickly come to realize that this advice would not work for me. I have had to come to terms that I am at capacity.

Capacity is different for everyone. My therapist—who I began therapy with a few months ago and I see weekly, explained all the lanes I was currently traversing.

Going to class is one lane, going to work is another lane, taking dance classes twice a week is a third lane, my writing for the program is the fourth, navigating a long-distance relationship is a fifth lane, and so on.

At the end of every session, she asks “what is one thing you are going to do to take care of yourself this week?” My answers tend to be very basic, but in hindsight, still meaningful. Regardless, by the end of the semester I felt burnt out.

I had a serious case of the flu that led me to 8 hours in the hospital. I spent the night before my birthday feeling ill, drinking Ensure for additional calories after experiencing loss of appetite, and churning out 20 script pages out of thin air.

Somehow I did a great job with my polished draft.

That was a terrible experience that I don’t ever want to repeat.

This semester is very clearly not my first semester of grad school. This is the real grind. Sometimes I pause and wonder if I’ll be able to manage it all. I’ve been told the key to surviving is to focus on the project you care about the most and let the others be good enough.

The problem with that is, I’m having a hard time picking just the one. Two weekends ago I was on the phone with a new acquaintance and still talking about how I care about my newsletter and don’t want to negatively impact the progress I made.

My motto the past three weeks has been to do things in increments. My new thing has also been not to sacrifice my sleep. My mental health requires that I do.

If I stop getting enough sleep, everything goes downhill and I mean that literally. Again, I don’t want to experience burn out. It’s not worth it.

The game-changer has been deleting my social media. Phew. I did not realize it was taking that much headspace in terms of noisiness.

When I first started, I found myself grabbing my phone all the time for no apparent reason. It was an unconscious habit.

The point of me writing this is not about the tightrope I am balancing on and the cure found in silencing the noise. It’s to say hello and I’m still here.

I accept that I can’t do the writing I’d like to do on my Substack because the writing I’m doing is my dream. I am committed to it.

The solace I’ve found is thinking about this period of my life. The life I am living now will inform what I’ll have to say when I come back to long-form essay writing.

As they say, life is meant to be lived. As an artist, I have to be open to life and where it takes me. In the meantime, I’m hoping that I won’t lose what I found with Late Bloomer.

P.S.

An additional lane I have not included above but deserves attention is what we’re facing everyday collectively. The following essay by Kendra Austin spoke to the sort of work necessary to fight for others, ourselves, and a better future.

“The Revolution is in you, and for us”