Earlier this year, I committed myself to writing 50.000 words in November. These fifty-thousand words would be the first draft of my new novel. I had it all planned out. I told my friends I couldn’t meet them and scheduled for December instead. I even took some days off from work.
It started out a bit slow. But I kept on writing daily. I went to writing events and participated in word-wars so that I could continue putting words on paper. I was going to produce a novel. I was enjoying myself. I was proud.
And then I got sick. I dragged myself to the hospital and underwent emergency surgery. They removed a cyst from my abdomen. Surgery went well and a day later I went home. All fixed up and ready to roll.
At first, I don’t think I realized how much of an impact undergoing surgery would have. Probably still doped up from the general anesthesia, I refused to spend my days in bed and kept on writing. I was trying to balance production and recovery. It took me roughly ten days to realize that this was not going to work. My body was tired.
I questioned myself a lot. Why am I having this much trouble giving up? I felt shame, guilt and fear. They were holding me back. My fear was preventing me from taking care of myself. It made me sad. I understood that my body was giving me signals, but I had been ignoring them. I did not want to accept my weakness. I did not want to be pitiful. But disregarding my own well being was possibly the most pathetic thing I could have done.
After, what was for me, a very emotional and rough period. I decided to call quits on my 50.000 words goal. This, I can tell you, is very unlike me. I am an upholder. My commitments are sacred. It felt like giving up, rather than prioritizing properly. But rationally, I agreed it was indeed the latter. My feelings would have to adjust.
I accepted my situation and I chose to take care of my body. This commitment to my health meant that I had to break other commitments. Since that decision I cancelled my appointments. The fear and shame I feel, are slowly ebbing away.
Understanding that I was afraid and why, made me open up to other possibilities. I had to rethink my priorities and make new decisions. After roughly two weeks, my body is still very weak. But it does feel like another part of me has become stronger.