Compassionately Holding the Writing Process in All Its Shades and Shapes

It’s November again. How did that happen so quickly? Like last November, I’ve been seeing lots of people get excited about NaNoWriMo. What’s this, you ask (if you aren’t one of the excited people)? National Novel Writing Month!

I wrote a piece about NaNoWriMo last year (you can read it here), and I still stand by it. Although well-intentioned, I don’t think that NaNoWriMo gives the first-time writer the space to hold the writing process with compassion. Is NaNoWriMo motivating? YES – for a short burst of time. Does it allow for our humanness and for the slow craft of the book-writing process? I’m gonna have to say NO on this one.

The thing that we need as writers – more than anything else – is a consistent writing practice that takes into account that there will be days when you feel inspired and days when you feel hum-drum. Days when you feel you are bursting with color, like the yellow, orange, and red maple leaves in my backyard, and then other days when you feel parched, dry, and brown, like the leaves on the oak tree (also in my backyard). Both exist in the writing landscape. You don’t know that this is normal and expected unless you are consistent – unless you show up more frequently than not.

And just so we’re on the same metaphorical page here, I feel I need to explain what I mean when I say “show up.” Showing up in writing doesn’t always look like hands on the keyboard of your laptop. Yes, it does mean that – stringing the words together on the page in sentences and paragraphs that eventually make up a chapter or an essay in your book. But showing up also looks like the following: 

• researching; 

• pre-writing and deep work in its many forms (thinking, musing, walking, writing down notes, brainstorming formally or informally); 

• creating an outline; 

• writing back-story; and 

• reading for inspiration, clarity, and targeting specific writing techniques. 

These are all ways that you can show up for yourself as a writer, and they are all part of the writing process. And I have undoubtedly missed a few ways that you can show up for the writing process as well – there are so many!

So whether or not you decided to write your book this month (NaNoWriMo enthusiasts and everyone else), let’s agree to give ourselves the gift of showing up for our writer selves – however that appears today. For me, that means writing this short blog.

And just to acknowledge the elephant looming here in the corner, It’s not lost on me that I haven’t been consistent here with my blog. I’ve been consistent in other ways as a writer, an editor, and a publisher,  but not in this way. And this way is something that is important to me and something I want to nurture more. So I’m showing up today, without shame or judgment, turning over the leaves I hold in my hand – some bright and some dull.

As a gift to you and as a gentle entry point into a new and consistent writing pattern, I’ve included a link on my homepage at www.cmcollab.com for my 5 Days of Writing Prompts series. This is a 5-Day Writing Journey delivered to your inbox. My hope is that this journey will support your writing practice and compassionately hold your heart as you step into fiercely sharing your voice.

For the Love of Letters

by Heather Doyle Fraser

My grandfather’s birthday was in January. My grandmother’s birthday was in March. February feels like the perfect time to celebrate their love and the one-sided record I have of their relationship. 

Of course, I have rich memories of their relationship burned into my brain but these memories are from a child’s perspective. I was almost 13 when my grandfather died in 1985 and nearly 14 when my grandmother passed in 1986. My sister and I spent the night with my grandparents at least a couple of times each month (maybe more) when we were growing up so I spent a lot of time with them. 

They were always affectionate with and kind to each other: a complimentary word from my grandfather to my grandmother, a smile and a wink, a kiss on the cheek, a hug, or a squeeze of the hand when sitting together. However, all of these affectionate moments were driven by my grandfather. This didn’t seem in the least bit curious to me because my grandmother was always doing, caretaking, and making sure that everything was done the “right” way in her estimation. The “everything” revolved around household chores and expectations: preparing food, cleaning up, doing laundry, ironing, and sewing – a full-time job. Now that I think about it, this was probably her way of reciprocating those kind and affectionate moments my grandpa initiated. 

They were married in 1929 and celebrated 56 years together before my grandfather passed. They shared the birth of seven children and 24 grandchildren while they were alive. Their story is so much more than that, too, as all stories are. My grandfather was a dentist and conducted his dental practice from their home. I actually have the desk that he used in his home office in my family room. It looks out over my backyard and has become one of my most cherished writing spaces.

It’s hard to imagine what their home was like since it housed their seven children (6 boys and 1 girl) and also my grandfather’s dental practice. To say that it was a vibrant hive of activity would probably be an understatement. My father remembers that every night the dinner table would be set for 13-14 people – not the expected 9. My grandparents welcomed anyone into their home who needed a meal and a safe place to land. There are so many stories I could tell of my grandparent’s compassion and hard work, but that’s not what this story is about. I only bring it up because it provides a little context into the full life they built, shared, and maintained over the course of their relationship.

A couple of years ago, we found letters, though. Letter after letter dating back to the 1930s, some barely legible and faded after years of being stored in a shoebox. Letters from my grandfather to my grandmother exploring his deep and abiding love for her. These letters were stunningly expressive, heartfelt, deep explorations of love. He wrote them on her birthday, their anniversary, Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day, Christmas, Easter, and then on random dates (however they may have not been random – I will never know for sure on that one).

When I unfolded the letters for the first time I couldn’t believe what I was reading. My grandfather was a poet and a storyteller. He was eloquent and each letter brought my heart aching clarity on the depth of his love for my grandmother. He didn’t simply say, “I love you.” He wrote her poems. He wrote her stories. He mixed classic myths with his own stories to metaphorically speak about his love and respect for her as a woman, a mother to their children, and a partner in life. He was a writer and I suspect that no one really knew this about him except for her.

Growing up, I always wondered if anyone else in my family loved books and writing as much as I did because I didn’t see it. Finding these letters was a huge gift. I found a heritage that I wasn’t expecting. When I was growing up, I never saw my grandfather reading anything other than the newspaper, but the letters I found told a different story. In those letters, I felt like I was reading something by Joseph Campbell, not James Francis Doyle, DDS.

They say letter writing is a lost art, and I think that is true. 

Historically, letters have served many purposes: to teach, to inform, to describe circumstances, and to express the thoughts, opinions, and feelings of the writer. They provide a record of a moment in time and when revisited, provide a glimpse into everyday life. 

My grandfather’s letters are different, though. Within his letters, he became a poet and master storyteller. I’ve never read so many letters with such substance, passion for life and love, and purpose. They don’t sit on the surface. There were no mentions of the weather, trips to the store, or planning for a looked-forward-to-event. They skipped all of the general contexts most letters start and end with to go much deeper into a shared experience as life partners. 

Among the earliest letters was one that specifically spelled out why he was writing (and not insignificantly, why I was reading the letters some 85 years later). Apparently, my grandfather had made a habit of writing my grandmother letters that he never gave to her. Then, one day, she found one of these. 

I imagine that perhaps she found the letter on his desk – the desk I now sit at daily – while she was tidying things up for him. I imagine that the letter grabbed her attention and begged her to sit a moment in the busyness of her day. I imagine that her voice caught in her throat while she was reading that first letter. And I imagine she let him know how much she appreciated his eloquence and his sharing. So from that day on, instead of writing for himself as a way to express his feelings for her, he wrote with the intention of sharing the letters with her. 

I talk to writers every day and I help them navigate the writing process. What I know about writing is that it is personal and vulnerable and at the same time universal and awe-inspiring. I also know that it must have taken a tremendous amount of courage and self-compassion for my grandfather to switch gears from writing for himself to writing for himself and his partner. It’s like making the switch from journaling daily to writing a book. Different intent. Different purpose. Different experience.

What I notice about these letters from the objective perspective of being a writer and a book coach is that my grandfather intuitively knew how he could compassionately approach his own writing in order to continue for the remainder of his life. This also happens to be what I employ in my writing and what I help others to do in their writing as well:

1. He knew his audience. He wrote specifically for one person and everything was tailored to his knowledge of her. 

2. He knew his why. He wrote for my grandmother, but also for his self-expression. This dual-purpose allowed him to access and share his thoughts and feelings in a way that nothing else could.

3. He knew how he needed to show up. He was committed to his consistency. A commitment to writing isn’t easy but its rewards are huge. For my grandfather, this commitment brought him joy and satisfaction. (This commitment brought joy and satisfaction to my grandmother as well and he knew that, too.)

The last thing about these letters that he most likely did not intend was that he left me and all of my family a legacy. That’s what we do when we put words to the page, particularly in a form that lasts, whether you’re writing a letter or writing a book. 

So today, I invite you to take a page from my grandfather’s letter-writing history and make some history of your own. 

Write today. 

Write for yourself. 

Write for someone you love. 

Write with purpose and passion.

Write with depth.

Write with commitment. 

Do this today, and then do it again tomorrow. Build a legacy for yourself and someone you don’t even know. That message and voice you harbor within needs to be shared.

—

If you are looking for a community to support you in your endeavor to create time for daily writing, join us at The Writing Practice.

What My Run Reminded Me About My Writing Practice

by Heather Doyle Fraser

If there is one activity that brings on my creativity and inspiration it is walking. I am a walker. Nature soothes my soul and allows me to access inner safeness in a world that feels chaotic and overwhelming at times. I like to walk alone. I like to walk with my dog. I like to walk with friends and family occasionally, but mostly it’s just me on my walks and all of my parts that need some soothing.

However, last summer I decided I wanted to reignite my run/walk self. I am currently 49 years old and I wanted to give a gift to my future self. I wanted to give her – this glorious 75- or 85-year-old future version of myself – the gift of strength and endurance and cardiovascular health. So I decided to embark on a run/walk training program just for me.

I’ve never considered myself a runner really. I have friends who are runners. They run marathons and ultra-marathons. I’m usually the person at the checkpoint or at the end of the race with food, extra clothes, encouragement, and a big hug. 

I have run a number of 5K races, though. I was the head coach for my daughter’s Girls on the Run team for three years and about seven years ago I ran a 10K race with my friend. Up until recently, that was the longest distance I had ever run.

When I started on this plan-just-for-me last June, I didn’t actually plan very well for it. 
I didn’t tell anyone I was doing it. I didn’t have any support for myself. 

What did I have? I had a Garmin watch and the Garmin Coach training app. I picked Coach Jeff on the app, because he had a nice face, and in his introduction video he told me he had run about a hundred marathons (he is in his 70s). He also said — and this was very important to me — that his training programs were designed so that you would never puke during a training run. Sold! That was good enough for me! 

I chose a goal for my training, but I did not do any research on how to navigate the plan or reschedule a run if I needed to. I basically just jumped in feet first without any preparation other than my shoes and my watch.

I bet you know where this part of the story is going – it’s going nowhere. I was motivated at the beginning when I birthed this idea, but then life came in and crashed my party. I didn’t stick to the training plan and I didn’t know how to adjust it to fit my schedule. And this was predictable because I didn’t give myself the gift of support around this goal. So I settled for a few run/walks here and there but mostly stayed with my regular walking.

And there was nothing wrong with this, it just was not what I really set out to do.

I stayed in this limbo of half-trying for a couple of months. Then, I found a buddy. I found the perfect virtual accountability partner for me and my runs in my bandmate Elizabeth. (She lives in Kentucky and I live in Ohio.) Here are all of the reasons she is my perfect virtual running buddy:

• She has been on the consistent running train since the beginning of 2021 (or maybe longer) but had a similar history with running to me. 

• She uses the Garmin Coach app so I could ask her how to do things if I couldn’t find the answers I needed with a Google search. 

• I had a relationship with her already and felt comfortable being vulnerable with her when things were going well and also when things were not going well.

I asked if she would be open to being my accountability partner. Guess what? She said she needed one too! So last August we started texting each week with our training plans and then we texted each other after we completed each run. And sometimes we would text randomly if we needed support. It made all of the difference for me.

Setting a New Goal and Creating a New Process

In August of 2021, I set a goal for myself to run/walk a 5K. That was the entire goal. I didn’t sign up for a specific race. It was fun. It wasn’t overly stressful. It was just what I needed. It meant that I had three workouts per week. I met the goal in early November by running a 5K with my husband. 

It’s now February and I have new goals set that are a little more challenging for me. It’s still a 5K run at the end, but I set a time challenge for myself knowing that my training plan would look a little different. I still only have three runs per week, but the workouts are more varied than in my last training plan and also more difficult for me. Really the time goal doesn’t matter to me all that much, it’s the process that I’m interested in, and to get to the process I have to have a goal. 

Last week I had a big run on the schedule = 7 miles. To be honest, there was a part of me that was scared, a part of me that was dreading it, a part of me that was curious, a part of me that was determined, and a part of me that was a more than little excited at the prospect of being able to say that I did it for myself.

Up until that point last week, the longest run I had ever accomplished was 6.6 miles and that was just a week prior. Before that, the longest run I had ever done was that 10K (6.2 miles) I ran with my friend in 2015.

The big run was scheduled for Tuesday, but Tuesday was a polar bear of a day. It was bitterly cold with 15-18mph winds. I wanted to move my body and do this run, but I knew that this was not the day. Instead, I bundled up in layers and went for a three-mile walk instead. I really enjoyed that walk. It wasn’t a fast pace because I was walking through snow and wearing boots, but I was warm and I enjoyed my pre-writing time and the scenery. 

Yes, I said pre-writing time. I consider my walks and runs for the most part to be pre-writing time. I always go out with the intention of mulling over something in my mind. It’s usually a post or a blog or sometimes I am trying to puzzle out a section of a client’s manuscript. It’s purposeful and something I do most days. I don’t always come to a solution for the puzzle, but I always make progress.

I looked at the calendar, and based on my schedule and the weather, I decided that Thursday would be the best possible day of the week for the long run. Thursday came and it was cold but not as cold as Tuesday. The sun was shining and that buoyed my spirits. YES! Today was going to be the day!

Just as I was finishing up my client calls, a blanket of clouds covered the sky and it started to snow. The wind picked up but it wasn’t as bad as it was on Tuesday. I was nervous. I didn’t want to be miserable. I didn’t want to be uncomfortable for an hour and a half or more. I texted Elizabeth and she said just what I needed to hear, “Go out and give it a try. Something is better than nothing. You don’t have to do all of it if today is not the day.”

Yes. I could try. 

I layered up: cold gear running tights, joggers, and leg warmers; cold gear turtleneck, quarter-zip fleece, and light but warm jacket; gloves and hat. The temperature was 28 degrees but with the windchill, it felt like 18 degrees. I drove to the metropark where all of the paths are plowed. It has some rolling hills so I was a little anxious about the possibility of slipping, but I reminded myself that I could take it slow and turn around if the snow got worse.

Mile 1

I started out very doubtful. I did not think I would be able to do the 7 miles on my training plan. I warmed up with a brisk walk for about seven or eight minutes and then started to run at a slow, easy pace. It did not feel good. In fact, it felt very uncomfortable. I felt like I had stilts for legs. But, I was not in pain and I wanted to at least get in a couple of miles, so I kept going.

Mile 2

Once I got to the second mile I started to warm up a bit – I wasn’t taking off any layers or anything, but I wasn’t feeling quite as stiff. And as a bonus, it was really beautiful with a very light snow coming down. Parts of the second mile went through a wooded area too so I was a bit more sheltered and protected from the wind. I told myself I could turn around at that point, but I really didn’t want to. I decided to turn on some music. I never usually listen to anything while I am on a walk or a run, but on this occasion, I cranked up the volume on my phone in my pocket and turned on the tunes. (I have really small ears and earbuds aren’t my friends.) 

Mile 3

Everything started to feel pretty magical during that third mile. In fact, there was a moment when I felt like all was right in the world and I was absolutely sure that I was Wonder Woman. At that point I knew I would do the 7 miles because I was already at the point where I had to turn around to do the second half! I was laughing at myself and marveled that I didn’t think I could do it. What had I been thinking? The music was pumping me up. By the time I finished the third mile, I knew in my heart that I could do this! 

Mile 4

I was still on my high from mile three during the fourth mile. It was glorious. I was over half done. I still carried that “I dan do anything” attitude with me throughout the mile. I was starting to intersperse a little more walking with my running but I had a good rhythm of running a quarter mile and then walking for a minute or so. It was working well and I was still enjoying myself. I took off my gloves because I was actually getting really warm.

Mile 5

By the end of the fifth mile I was drenched in sweat. I was not as dazzled as I had been in miles three and four, but I was content with what I was doing. Towards the end of the mile it occurred to me that I could just do 6 miles instead of going for 7. The route I had chosen would have me right near my car at 6 miles. I really pondered this. I was beginning to get cold from the sweat and while I wasn’t hurting, I was starting to tire.

Mile 6

I hit the crossroads at the beginning of the sixth mile. And it was a LITERAL crossroad. The path on the right would take me to my car and I would be done! The path on the left would give me that last mile that I said I was going to do. I took a deep breath and took the path to the left, but I decided to walk a little more. I chose to run just as much as I could and would then walk. Run a little, walk a little. Run a little, walk a little. And I did this for the whole last mile.

Mile 7

Technically when my watch hit the 7 miles I was done, but I needed to do my cool down. So I walked for another five minutes letting the enormity of what I had just done sink in. I completed a 7-mile run and with my warm-up and cool down it ended up being 7.6 miles. Yes, I interspersed walking with my running and that is why I finished! I took it at a pace I could handle and I completed what I set out to do. In fact, I exceeded my expectations!

Before, During, and After

When I finished, I marveled at my accomplishment. And then I really examined what happened. I set the stage for myself to be able to do this. I created a Before, During, and After plan for myself that worked really well. 

Before the Run: 

• I consistently showed up for months for the training process. 

• I reached out to my support person when I needed to. 

• I picked the most favorable day possible to do this big run. 

• I dressed appropriately to reduce my discomfort as much as possible.

During the Run: 

• I didn’t push myself too hard. 

• I pushed myself just enough to challenge myself, but not lose heart or strength. 

• I listened to music because I knew that would help – even though I had never done it before. But music always soothes me and brings me a sense of confidence and hope. I used that when I needed it. 

• I leaned on my reserves and all that I had done before. 

• I talked nicely to myself when I needed to slow down and walk. 

• I praised myself when I ran for longer than I thought I could.

After the Run: 

• I allowed myself to feel joy and a sense of accomplishment for what I had done. 

• There was a small voice that reminded me that I have friends who run marathons all of the time, but I reminded that voice that I don’t run marathons all of the time and this is a big deal. 

• I stretched after so that I wouldn’t be sore and to ensure that I would be able to continue with my training. 7 miles was not my goal, it was just part of the process!

What My Run Reminded Me about My Writing Practice

Every time I am on a run I can’t help but make connections to my writing practice. Both activities require thought, preparation, determination, consistency, perseverance, and mental and emotional fortitude. When I was on my run, these are the lessons I kept hearing over and over in my head, mile after mile.

Lesson #1: 

Almost everything that is challenging is easier with a supportive partner – even when the partner isn’t physically with you. (Writing practice, I’m looking at you.)

Lesson #2: 

The process is the place to be. The goal helps you to get to your process, but the goal isn’t as important as the process itself. (Writing practice — again — I am looking at you. Practice holds the process.)

Lesson #3:

Even when you think you aren’t writing, you are still making progress. Pre-writing doesn’t always happen when you are on the page. You are prepping for the main event all the time if you are in your process. (Practice, practice, practice in all the ways you can think of – some days that might be a walk.)

Lesson #4:

Your Before, During, and After in your writing is just as important as in anything you do. 

How Can You Plan for Before, During, and After in Your Writing Practice?

I spent a lot of time on my Before, During, and After strategy for that run. It won’t surprise you to learn that I spend an equal (or maybe even more) amount of time thinking about the before, during, and after of consistent writing practice. Writing doesn’t need to be miserable and tortured, even if it is difficult and challenging. When we plan for the event each time in its entirety, the more likely we are to feel safe and comfortable and able to handle the challenges when they come up. 

Before Your Writing Practice:

• Create a consistent time for writing and block it on your calendar. Adjust if you need to without shame. 

• Set up your writing space ahead of time before you sit down to write – maybe even the night before if you are a morning writer. Make sure your laptop or notebook is ready in your space. Do you need a cup of tea or coffee or a glass of water at your desk? Set the cup or glass out on your kitchen counter before you go to bed. And if you have a programmable coffee maker, set it up to be ready when you come into the kitchen in the morning. 

• Do you need a cozy blanket to put over your lap? Do you need that favorite scarf to create a sense of safeness for you? Put these in your writing space.

During Your Writing Practice:

• When you sit down to write, make sure there are no other distractions – like notifications on your laptop or phone – vying for your time.

• Go slow. Speed up when you need to, go slow when you need to. The pace is the pace. You are here for your allotted time (20, 30, or 60 minutes) not a certain number of words.

• Use your outline – you know your route. Your outline or a bulleted plan can be your best friend in your writing practice. It gives you the flexibility and freedom you need to write within it or to choose to go outside of it.

• Join a writing community like The Writing Practice so you have someone with you virtually when you are writing. You don’t have to be alone. You can create a safe haven of support around you.

After Your Writing Practice: 

• When you finish your session, notice if you have ideas about where you want to go and what you want to write next time. Jot these down as a compassionate gift to your future self and your next writing session.

• Acknowledge what you have accomplished! Not everyone steps on this path and you are not only placing your feet on the path, you are moving and making progress. 

Who knew running for myself could parallel the writing practice in so many ways? 

Productivity and Writing is a Tricky Alliance

by Heather Doyle Fraser

We live in a culture and a time where busy-ness and productivity are badges of honor, self-worth, and pride. If you aren’t making the most of your time, what are you doing? Binging Netflix, of course. You are either supremely productive or a lazy sloth – one or the other. And only one of these entitles you to feeling worthy, feeling like you are enough. 

It’s everywhere. This productivity requirement is in our work, in our homes (if you are going to binge Netflix you have to at least fold some laundry while you are doing it or post about it on social media!), in our hobbies, in our self-development, in our approach to exercise and movement, in our daily routines.  Like I said, everywhere.

So, where does this leave us? 

It leaves us judging ourselves and what we do every minute of the day. We become only as good as our doing, forgetting about our being. This creates a harsh inner landscape that confuses us when we embark on a creative journey, like writing.

Not all writing needs to be for public consumption. But, if you identify yourself as a writer – especially in a time when it is so easy to share your work – it’s difficult to let go of the goal of productivity and be in the process of writing for its own sake.

I work with people who use writing as a way to share their message and themselves with the world. Often they are writing a blog and they also may be writing a book or moving towards that goal. It’s good to have goals to move towards because when you start with the end in mind, it’s easier to get there. But sometimes we become lost in the goal and lose sight of the process.

Good writers do a few basic things over and over that make them consistently better:

• Write consistently without the expectation of sharing all of it.

• Read consistently multiple genres for enjoyment.

• Practice the process of writing and reading over and over.

• Trust the process of writing and revising.

And the nice thing is, even if you don’t consider yourself a “good writer” now, if you do these basic things over time, you will become one.

A deep writing process is not for those who want the quick dopamine hit of a social media post where people will respond almost instantaneously. Deep writing practice and process requires you to shift your expectation around productivity. It’s a process of delayed outward gratification, but instantaneous internal gratification. Every moment spent in the practice allows you to grow. Every moment is productive even if it doesn’t appear so to the outside world. 

The writing process favors being in the present moment rather than doing as much as you possibly can. It favors focus and time and exploration. There is no multi-tasking with writing.

What does this mean if you are writing a book?

First and foremost, there are no shortcuts, easy buttons, or templates that will bring you what you desire which is your unique voice out there in the world cradled in a book cover. There are no productivity hacks when you are starting out on your writing journey. Sure you can track your words in each session, but what does that really mean? It only means you wrote that many words that day. It doesn’t mean that you will keep all of those words in whatever you are creating.

I find tracking words and your outward productivity is an ill-advised tactic that doesn’t always lead the beginner to their ultimate goal. This type of productivity tracking focuses you on the blades of grass instead of the bucolic expanse of the landscape in front of you. And it sets you up for feeling like a sloth and a harsh inner landscape filled with cutting self-criticism.

There is another – more compassionate – way.

When you first begin a consistent writing practice, time is your friend. You can commit to time on task more easily than words on a page. For instance, when you are beginning, you can commit to twenty minutes of writing time and then incrementally increase the writing time as you become more comfortable with the practice of writing. And when your goal is time and you are present for that time, you just set yourself up for success and some momentum that will help you, not hinder you.

I’ve been doing a lot of running lately. I really enjoy short distances in running, especially the 5K distance. I’m not fast. And I realize as I create a practice with running I enjoy it more and more. I find, too, that the practice of running is so similar to the practice of writing. It provides a physical manifestation of what I experience internally when I’m writing. I have to convince myself to start sometimes and I always feel better afterward.

I’ve noticed some interesting things since I’ve started exploring the similarities between writing and running in my social media posts. Primarily because running is something that people track and have goals around, they immediately assume that I am running to meet an outside goal. I’ve been asked so many times, “What are you training for? What race are you working towards.” And they always seem a bit surprised when I tell them that I’m not really training for anything. I just want to get better at running three times per week, feel strong, and build my lung capacity and fitness level so I can enjoy my body to its fullest extent for as long as possible. And I really enjoy how I feel when I’m done! That’s not traditionally productive, but it suits me and my needs just fine.

If we look at running and its similarities with writing, you wouldn’t ask yourself to run five miles tomorrow if you had never run a mile before. It’s the same with writing. You can’t expect to write 1500 words in your first writing session if you have never done it before. Moreover, you can’t expect yourself to consistently write that many words day after day when you haven’t trained for it.

In the most simple terms, we need to flip our expectations on how we think about productivity when we embark on cultivating a consistent writing practice.

When I am working with someone on a book in particular this expectation flip is particularly hard. If you are writing a book that caters to your voice, that highlights your strengths as a writer and your message, it is not going to be one that you can write in three days, a week or even a month. It’s a long layered process that meanders even when you have a book map. It grows and evolves as you grow and evolve. And once that first draft is done, you are not nearly finished. Book writing requires you to move from traditional productivity to a phosphorescent process. And if you stick with it, over time, you will have the book in your hands, but only if you allow the process. And only if you allow that every word you write is not for public consumption. Some words will always only be just for you.

If you are looking for a safe place to practice, come join us at The Writing Practice. Learn more at https://mailchi.mp/cmcollab/the-writing-practice.

How Did NaNoWriMo Work for You?

by Heather Doyle Fraser

November was National Novel Writing Month. I hear people start to talk about this in late October, “November is National Novel Writing Month! I’m going to do it this year! I’m going to write my book in November!”

Let’s be clear about something from the outset, here. I think NaNoWriMo is awesome. I think it inspires people to think big and imagine a world where they are writing daily and that vision seems exciting and sexy, and also a little scary. And if you sign up for NaNoWriMo on their website — if you look around a little before November 1 — you will see that the good people who birthed this idea intend a few things:

1. Your planning of the novel needs to begin before November 1. In order to start tracking those words on November 1, you need to have created an outline and backstory for your characters BEFORE then. They have a timeline (and even that appears to be a little aggressive to me) that suggests you begin the process of outlining and character development in September.

2. You will write the first 50,000 words of your novel in November. That doesn’t mean you complete the writing of your book. That means you write the first draft of the first 50,000 words of your novel. This is a first draft of a portion of your novel — not a completed manuscript by the end of the month. (Average length of debut fiction novels is 75,000-90,000 words.) 

Let’s do the math on this. If you are writing the first 50,000 words of your novel in the month of November and you start on November 1, that gives you 30 days. This means you are writing about 1665-1670 words every single day of the month. No days off. No exceptions made for, “I’m feeling uninspired and really quite cranky today.” No exceptions for, “I had a client crisis at the office this week and had to put in a couple of really long days at work.” No exceptions for, “I got a terrible cold and didn’t sleep well for a week.” No exceptions for, “My child is sick and I needed to rearrange my entire schedule to take care of them.”

No exceptions.

Unless you decide to take one or two days off each week at the outset. Then you have shortened your writing time. Let’s imagine that you allow yourself to take 6 days off of writing. That means on your 24 writing days you need to write 2,084 words in each writing session. 

More pressure. That’s awesome for setting the stage for creativity and inspiration!

Let’s assume you started ahead of November 1 and you do have an outline and you have created a little backstory on the character development front. Let’s also assume, though, that you didn’t spend as much time on these parts of the process as you would have liked so you are feeling a little uncertain. And, let’s also assume that this is a new endeavor for you so you have not cultivated a consistent writing practice that has become a habit for you. 

If you do not have a daily writing practice in place when you begin, your goal of writing 50,000 words of your novel in 30 days is going to be VERY difficult to achieve. This kind of writing requires practice, consistency, diligence, and a whole lot of self-compassion. Writing nearly 2000 words a day for 30 days takes high-level training! It requires you to set up your life to support your writing habit. 

What does this mean? 

Most people who want to write a book are not full-time writers. They have jobs, families, partners, and responsibilities that require their attention. So, they need to make space for writing like they make space for any truly important and value-based endeavor. They have to account for the time and plan for it, like you would plan to workout or exercise. 

For example, let’s pretend you decide you should write your 2000 words first thing in the morning before work. if you are writing before work in the morning, you would need to make sure that everything is set the night before -- you have to be able to get to bed at a consistent and reasonable time to get up at a presumably unreasonable time to devote yourself to the writing practice before the rest of your responsibilities take center stage (work, adulting, etc.).

The thing people forget when they declare their intention to write a book in a month is that you need to train in order to be able to write nearly 2000 words a day. In order to write this many words consistently per day, you need to have been working up to that number. Your very first writing sessions shouldn’t even have a word count expectation associated with them in my opinion. At the beginning, time alone is your goal. You may not be able to guarantee a number of words at the beginning but you can control how long you sit in front of your laptop.

Just like exercise, this writing journey is a hard one when you feel alone. Even though writing is a solitary endeavor, though, you don’t need to feel alone. And writing in the same space with someone, having compassionate support, and accountability partners all makes this difficult task of writing easier. Doable. And that’s where NaNoWriMo gets it right – all of these people all over the world are engaged in the same challenging activity.

I would like to set the stage though for a more compassionate approach. First off, whether you are writing a non-fiction book (my specialty) or a novel, you need to spend the time upfront on the WHY, the WHO you need to be to write it and WHO you are writing to, the WHAT (hello book plan!), the HOW (What do you need to clear from your schedule? What decisions do you need to make upfront?) and the WHEN. Then you need to get into training mode – consistency is key!

Daily writing practice (or nearly daily) is not only what will help you finish your book, it will also help you to cultivate a deeper relationship with yourself and your writing. It’s pure gold.

So, if you didn’t finish your book in November, no worries! You didn’t have all the information upfront. You weren’t ready. Let’s take it slow and commit to 20 minutes per day, shall we? And if that sounds like too much for day 1, let’s commit to 15 minutes. In a week, you’ll be able to up the time a little just like you up your reps in the gym. 

You can do this… If you want it. If you want to put in the time, day after day, over and over again. Let’s train together. Not for the sprint of one month, but for the long haul. Start now so when November 2022 comes around, you will be in the homestretch rather than behind before you even begin.

If you are looking for a safe place to practice, come join us at The Writing Practice. Learn more at https://mailchi.mp/cmcollab/the-writing-practice.

Compassion at the Core. Always.

by Heather Doyle Fraser

When I think of the people with whom I work on a daily basis, this is one of the things I notice: they are storytellers who intrinsically value compassion. This is why I am working with them — so that they can share their voices but also so that the message of compassion can make its way into the world in as many ways as possible.

Today is a big day because one of my authors is publishing her book. It’s an unlikely book for me to publish on the surface. It’s a second edition of a children’s chapter book that was originally written and published in 1991. The Little Girl Who Grew Up to Be Governor: Leadership Lessons and Stories From the Life of Martha Layne Collins, second edition by Frances Smith Strickland, PhD is releasing today!

On the surface, this book teaches leadership skills to young readers using the inspirational story of Kentucky’s first woman governor—Martha Layne Collins. Collins accomplished what many thought impossible when she was elected Governor of Kentucky in 1983. The updated second edition draws heavily on the established principles of leadership from John W. Gardner and psychologist Howard Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences while also emphasizing central themes of helpfulness, resilience, planning, kindness, using your strengths, courage, and service for the next generation of leaders. And do you know what else is at the center of all of Martha Layne’s stories? Compassion.

“A standard definition of compassion is, a sensitivity to the suffering in self and others with a commitment to try to alleviate and prevent it." — Dr. Paul Gilbert, Founder of Compassion Focused Therapy (CFT) and the Compassionate Mind Foundation, UK

Any story with compassion at its center is one I want to be a part of bringing into the world. Join me today in bringing this book to your children, your friends, and yourself. We can all use a great example of what good leadership layered with compassion looks like. This is my example for today.

The Little Girl Who Grew Up to be Governor: Leadership Lessons and Stories From the Life of Martha Layne Collins, second edition, by Frances Smith Strickland, Ph.D., is available on Amazon in kindle or paperback.

What Is It That I Am Feeling?

By Erica Sonnabend

Wow.  What a year it’s been.  

I feel like that statement is one we're all hearing now that we've marked a full year since a global pandemic came crashing into our lives, but it really is fitting.  

I certainly do not say these words lightly - quite the opposite, actually. The deep emotions behind that statement and what they represent are what strikes me the most when I hear that statement. There has never been a time in most of our lives that the whole world has experienced loss from the very same root cause.  

As the weeks of uncertainty turned into months, I witnessed a shift in the collective conversation in our society that gave me hope.  Initially, we were talking about the world shutting down, frightening case numbers, and lack of toilet paper, but then something else happened.  While we were still talking about those drastic changes in our daily lives, we also started talking about how those changes made us feel.  

Our conversations became a mix of both intellectual facts and the corresponding emotions that accompany them. Words such as mindfulness, awareness, wellbeing, compassion, and connection started popping up during nightly news reports, on social media, and in zoom calls all over the world.  We as humans were speaking our emotional truth like never before.  That truth was filled with all sorts of feelings - fear, sadness, longing, relief, gratitude, isolation, anger, desperation, love, etc.  People started discussing problems with sleeping, eating, working, feeling stuck, being disoriented, and connecting to joy as a result of the pandemic.   

Guess what all of those feelings are?  Yup...GRIEF.  Our usually “grief avoidant” society was experiencing loss in so many unprecedented ways that many of us started talking about our losses and our feelings instead of relying on the social norm of not really expressing our challenging emotions.  As someone who has discovered the many benefits of dealing with all of my emotions (those most often viewed as either positive or negative), this is such a welcome change.

By July of last year, I had many people (including news media) reaching out to my grief support practice to ask what grief actually is and how someone can tell if they are experiencing it.  To answer that question, I offered the definition of grief that completely changed my perspective on loss. 

"Grief is the conflicting feelings caused by the change in or the end of a familiar pattern of behavior."    - John W. James 

Why is this definition so important?

Personally, I walked around thinking something emotionally was wrong with me after experiencing the death of my father, the end of my marriage, changes in my health, and challenges in my career. I believed that once my dad had been gone for a year, I was supposed to magically feel better, but I did not.  I struggled to cling to what others told me about “being better off” when my marriage ended.  And let us not forget that “everything happens for a reason” platitude. Those sentiments were offered out of love for me which I appreciate; however, I was still stuck and stuffing my feelings down.

The problem was that outside of the death losses I had experienced, I didn’t consider that the other changes in my life were also losses. Consequently, the conflicting feelings I experienced didn’t make sense to me. I couldn’t understand why I continued to feel the way I did so I kept those feelings hidden.  I believed that loss was about death and that feelings of grief were reserved solely for that reason. 

Grief is certainly about death, but it is also about so much more.  It's about any change in your life that has deep emotional value to you. Only you can determine what those loss events in your life are and how you will integrate those losses into your future life. It is important that we realize that feelings of grief are not just limited to the date (or the year after) your loss occurred.  Loss and change can cause ripple effects throughout our lives in various ways.  Expressing the varied emotions that come up is absolutely essential.

As we moved through this past year, many of us came to realize that the definition of grief we'd been relating to for so long was too narrow.  So much that was familiar to us came to an abrupt end and the changes are too many to count. Recognizing that feelings of grief and loss are not limited to specific changes helps us to expand our conversations.  The figurative stop signs we used to encounter are replaced with open hearts and listening ears which leads us down a path toward healing.

There is much work ahead for us as we continue to battle this pandemic into year two. We will need to rely on each other and keep pushing to eradicate this public health crisis that has taken far too much.  The losses are many which means the need to connect to our emotional truth is greater than ever.  Let’s continue to shift our conversations about every aspect of our loss experiences by speaking our truth about how we feel when a “familiar pattern of behavior” changes or ends.  

Wow.  What a year indeed. 

Be well, friends.

The Writing Paradox

by Heather Doyle Fraser

The writing process is something I love. I have a reverence for it because the process is so similar to living life. To me, the process of showing up for life and all of its ups and downs, ins and outs, plateaus, plummets, and ascensions is sacred. There is a cadence to life and nothing is ever exactly the same if you are really paying attention. The writing process is the life process in a very specific context.

It’s full of paradox and contradictions, from beginning to end. At the beginning we see the paradox we’ve nurtured in our hearts for a long time — that we have been sold two visions of writing. Each vision holds a thread of truth, but neither describes the day in and day out process that creates the weft and weave of your story and your voice. 

The initial paradox you experience when you begin your writing practice is that you hold in your mind two ideals of how this writing thing is going to progress. On the one hand, you see yourself in a cozy spot, maybe in the south of France or some other exotic locale, where you write with abandon, the words flying out of you, your hair gently moving with the breeze that surrounds you (did I mention you are writing outside in just the right light, by a pond or lake?). You are fulfilled with each moment of this writing practice. On the other hand, you see yourself in the darkest night of the soul, languishing in the pain of living, but creating out of this place and it feels powerful. You must suffer in order to create, and create you must, so you look for ways to suffer — maybe unconsciously, but it’s always there. 

The reality is that a consistent daily writing practice happens just like exercising or even breathing happens. You show up every day and some days it is hard and other days it is glorious, but every day it is just who you are: a writer. It’s just the truth you are living. You do it regardless of your surroundings and you don’t create suffering to create — you look for the ease to give yourself the opportunity to create. Everything builds from this one moment: you write in between, despite, and in search of these paradoxical visions of the writing process and while you are doing that you see the deeper layers of your practice. 

And what exactly are the deeper layers, you ask?

Fluidity and Foundation

As writers, especially when we have a book on the horizon, we want to make sense of not only what we are writing, but also the process of the writing. This making sense of the process, though, requires something that I think most people aren’t all that comfortable with: fluidity, impermanence, a cadence that allows for movement, slow downs, speed ups, and pauses. Sometimes the words come fast and furious and the flow is effervescent and almost effortless. Other times, one sentence feels like the most arduous task you could ever accomplish. And as humans, we are always searching for certainty. When we feel that flow we want it to continue and when it doesn’t we become scared. We wonder what we did to frighten our creativity and the words away.

What if we allowed all of it, though? What if we created a solid foundation and a structure? What if we gave ourselves permission to set up a plan for the book, set up consistent practice time, treat ourselves with compassion, write what we need to write in that moment and then allow for slow downs, pauses, and even a change of course if it is warranted? 

It’s good and monumentally helpful to have a target and a plan. It’s good and monumentally helpful to show up consistently in your practice and set up your environment to serve your writing practice. And occasionally, it is also good and monumentally helpful to explore the possibilities when they show up. What if we allowed exploration? 

Fluidity and

Impermanence: words that hold

Space for the writing.

Engagement and Disengagement

Sometimes a possibility looks like a pause. Sometimes in the pause you find new ideas or remember something that is really essential to your message. Sometimes in the pause you realize you need to rest and let the ideas simmer. Taking a step away — giving yourself the gift of disengagement — is sometimes just what your practice needs. When we pause, we allow time for true reflection and deep work. If you’ve set the foundation, you know: 

• why you want to write this book.

• who your reader is.

• who you need to be in order to write the book.

• what you want to convey to your reader -- the main message which flows through and connects everything in your book.

• how you want to come to the writing process and tell your “story” with your unique voice.

When you set the foundation you know where you are at all times in the process. And when you have a question about where you are going next, all you have to do is look around you and look to your book plan. In that moment of pause we can get our bearings. We can see the path and know if we need to add another stop along the way, change direction, circle back, or keep on moving forward as planned. We can reflect and consider and deeply engage with the process and the practice.

Sacred and Everyday

When we create a consistent writing practice we are engaging in something sacred and magical and also something so mundane and automatic that you make space to do it every day or most days without even thinking about it. We need to treat it with reverence and also treat it the way you treat breathing. By this I mean you don’t actually give it a thought. You don’t wrestle with the choice of doing it or not doing it. The act of writing becomes as simple as a bodily function. We must balance, then, the magic and the mundane of writing because in order to fully engage in the process, we must also hold them both in a steadfast stance.

Iterative Until It’s Not

I think we all have dreams as writers that we will sit down to write and the beauty and poetics of each sentence and paragraph will flow from our heart and soul onto the page like a sparkling, piercing light. We can imagine this light and it blinds us with its brilliance. The piece comes out whole and complete in one go as if we caught the tail of a kite and pulled the words in from the heavens, not seeing the details and form until the end when we held the kite in our hands. Sometimes this happens with a sentence or a paragraph or even a short piece of writing. And this is why we believe it will always be this way, because it happens sometimes. That’s the dopamine rush we are chasing always. This is why we anticipate that we will sit down and be complete at the end of a session; that we will bask in the glory of wholeness. 

The everyday is often different. Sometimes — maybe even most times — we write heavy-handedly, forcing the beauty and the feeling of lightness until we look back and see it is not pleasing or meaningful or even understandable. What do we do then? We go back, again and again, working and playing (whether you are working or playing depends on the day) with the words, sentences and paragraphs, gently coaxing the beauty to come to the surface. We take that pause and come back over and over, winding the kite in slowly by its tail as it catches on the wind and branches that block its path back. The path to wholeness is different on these days. It requires patience and tenacity both. The result in the end is the same, though, whether you work on a section for weeks or months or find it in your heart in just one sitting. Wholeness. Leaving space for both paths is the challenge, especially in that moment of frustration when you would rather the breeze aid your kite back to your hand in one moment and motion.

A published work is

A moment in time captured

Forever in words. 

Practice Creates the Process and the Published Book

These are some of the reasons that talking about the process of writing is so difficult -- it’s full of layers and contradictions. There are no hard and fast rules except for one — practice — but even that looks different for each person and at the different stages of the process. Your practice brings your process to life. So when you are writing a book in particular, there are all of these layers that funnel down into the ultimate paradox that hits you at the very end: while the writing process and practice is fluid and changing and requires flexibility, the finished product is final and unchanging. 

I think that is something that can be so intimidating to writers — I know it is intimidating to me every time I am writing a new book. You’ve spent the past however many months or years crafting this magical book and lovingly tending to its needs, adding to it, taking away from it,  knowing that it’s a layered process. Once you embrace this it is so freeing! And then, in that embrace you can see what’s just beyond the horizon — the publish button. 

This is where we bring in self-compassion once again. All those fears that the word publish brings up, they are expected and universal. You are not alone. In this place of knowing that these fears and this doubt is natural you can pick up the words anyway, and just write the next sentence.

If you are writing and would like to be surrounded in sacred community as you journey further into this process, I invite you to explore my course, The Self-Compassionate Writer: A Step-by-step Approach that Supports Your Writing Practice and the Book Within You. There is a new way to approach writing and your process and I would love to introduce you to it.

You're Not the Boss of Me! A Writer's Lament

by Heather Doyle Fraser

You’re a wily, sly

One, skulking beneath the page,

Waiting to burst forth.

When I stare at the

Blank abyss, you come boldly,

Stopping me again.

If you’ve ever decided to embark on a big writing journey, like writing a book, you have been in this place. The place where writer’s block takes hold and stops you in your tracks before you even begin. 

Our first instinct is to resist: You’re not the boss of me! I will write RIGHT NOW! Sometimes just being there with your rear in the chair in front of your laptop is enough and you can power through for your allotted time or words per writing session. Other times, try as you might, you can’t seem to eek out more than a paragraph and the words that do come forth are not what you would call your best. 

Let’s call writer’s block what it truly is: Fear. Fear of something. It may not be the same each time it rears its head, but it is all fear at the core. Here’s the thing about our relationship as humans with fear: We want to fight against it, turn away, pretend it isn’t there; we want to avoid it. The more we resist, though, the more the fear persists. And so it continues -- maybe, as I said, you power through in that one writing session, but this feeling comes back again and again because we refuse to fully look at it and acknowledge it. We refuse to give our fear an audience, to really look at what it is we are afraid of, and without looking at it, the fear continues to loom, day after day, week after week, month after month. We try numbing it with distraction or other things that do indeed temporarily stop that uncomfortable feeling, but these distractions don’t propel us any faster towards the writing that is waiting.

What if we approached this scenario differently? What if we looked underneath that itchy discomfort that plagues us at the blank page? What if we named the fear? Here’s some of the fears around writing that I see in my work with myself and with my clients…

• Who will want to read this book?

• What makes me think I can do this?

• Is my writing even any good?

• What will people think of me once they read my book?

• What if I don’t sell a single copy?

• What if I can’t finish writing it?

• What if I give up before I begin, like all of the other things in my life?

• What if I do all of this work and it is all for nothing?

• What if I am actually a terrible writer and I have been living under a grandiose fallacy for years?

• What makes me think that what I have to say is something special?

• Other people have already written about this topic, and probably better, why should I even try?

This list could go on, but these are the fearful thoughts that I see come up again and again. These thoughts are designed to stop us from sharing our voice with the world. It’s understandable. Sharing your voice is a vulnerable endeavor and it takes us back to those ingrained fears of being shunned, kicked out of our social circle and community. At one time in our ancestors history this would mean death. (In high school it may have felt like death!) At the beginning of civilization, though, a lone person couldn’t survive without the help and support of their community. They would literally die. You get kicked out, and then you become injured, and then you are done. That’s not how it is now, but that’s still how we feel -- our threat system can quickly hijack our thoughts and emotions and create real mental and physical discomfort and pain. We start down this path and our palms might become clammy, we may begin to sweat, and our hearts may race as our anxiety skyrockets. What can we do in the face of all that?

Soothe the fear.

So after we have named the fear, we soothe it.

It sounds simple, but it’s not always easy. These thoughts loop and loop until we are down the rabbit hole, so we need to create some space. What’s the best and fastest path to that open space? Your breath. Deep breathing, pausing at the top and exhaling. Inhaling for a count of four, pause, and exhale for a count of four. Repeat. Do this until you have a little space in your mind and in your heart. You don’t need to feel all warm and fuzzy here. Our aim is to create a space -- a place of reset and grounding --  so that we can look at this a little differently and move towards what we want (writing the book) instead of moving away from what we want in order to not feel the discomfort of the fear.

Let’s look at a common fear I often hear about writing: Other people have probably already written about this topic and probably better, why should I even try?

Most of the people I work with are writing creative nonfiction: informational books, self-development, self-help, memoir, or a combination of these. In their case, they are most certainly right about the first part -- other people have probably already written about their topic because often these topics have a basis in universal truths. However, even if someone has already written about “your” topic, no one has your voice. No one can write the book that you are meant to write. Your voice is unique. Just take a walk in a library and you will see hundreds of books that seemingly are about similar things. Your voice (and your book) will resonate with your audience, though, and not necessarily with someone else’s. To me, that makes it imperative for you to share your voice. Your message is languishing inside of you. What if someone’s understanding of some universal truth hinges on the way you write about it? What if there are hundreds of thousands of people who are waiting for the way you might explain that idea about which you are so passionate?

These are all deep thoughts for sure — maybe even worthy of a Jack Handey quote or two — but they also have been proven again and again the more I read, write, and experience life. 

Name It, Soothe It, Move It

So after you name the fear, soothe it, and give yourself a compassionate dose of honesty and support, what else is there to do? Sometimes the physical effects of these thoughts and the adrenaline in our system lingers a bit. What can we do to move that and help us get back to the writing? There are so many strategies you could use here, but I have some favorites that I use again and again:

• Go for a quick or long walk

• Take your shoes off and walk in the grass

• Dance to one of your favorite songs

• Shake the energy out, literally shaking your arms and legs

• Do some stretching or yoga

• Do 10 squats, jumping jacks, and or pushups

And then you come back to your chair. You sit down and look at the blank page and write something that doesn’t matter, something that doesn’t feel big or pressure laden. For me, I often write haikus. I find them a creative boost and a fun way to get into the writing of the day and connect with my voice. That’s why I start my blogs with haiku. I even wrote about it in piece a while back entitled, Haiku: A Compassionate Bridge to Your Creativity and Your Voice.

If that doesn’t feel quite right for you (don’t knock it until you try it!), you could also doodle, draw, paint, origami… whatever -- just something that will spur those creative juices to move past the block (that you have named) and into the space of writing and flow again. Over time you will notice the same fears coming up again and again. Each time you name it and give yourself a compassionate response to it, rather than a self-critical one or ignoring it all together, you will notice that it holds less power over you. That space feels exhilarating and provides us with the opportunity to do what we are meant to do in that moment: WRITE.

If writing your book is something you have been putting off for months or years -- or maybe it’s a dream you have finally acknowledged for yourself -- now is the time to adopt a new way of being with writing. My six-week writing course The Self-Compassionate Writer: A Step-by-step Approach that Supports Your Writing Practice and the Book Within You is the antidote to the myth of the tortured writer. If you are interested in bringing your dream of writing forth in 2021, I would love to guide you. The course starts February 9, 2021. Let’s set up a time to talk to see if the course is a good fit for you!

GRIEF: Navigating through the Holidays

By Erica Sonnabend

Here we are in the second week of December.  Many of us have been raised with holiday traditions and the shared wonder that makes this the most magical time of the year.  I’ve felt this way for much of my life.  The promise of holiday gatherings, maybe a favorite gift under the tree, colorful outdoor lights, familiar smells and the generosity of spirit have almost always left me feeling hopeful and loved.  I have been truly fortunate.

As I’ve grown older and experienced the death of loved ones, strained family relationships and a divorce, the magic of the holidays has been dulled by feelings of loss and disconnection.  Although I have actively worked toward emotional healing from my losses (and still do daily), the onset of the holiday season can have me riding a rollercoaster of conflicting feelings.  

All too often, I have pushed through this time of year, by throwing myself into the merriment and ever-growing list of holiday activities, festivals, and parties.  Somehow, I figured that keeping up with the usual traditions was “the right thing” to do for the good of my family and friends. It seemed simpler to go along with the holiday status quo than to acknowledge my grief and change my plans.  Simpler? For whom?  Certainly not for me.

“Let your holiday grief be what it is. And let yourself – your new grieving self – be who you are.
”

— Alan Wolfelt, Ph.D

In early 2014, my life took another quick left-hand turn.  I became the legal guardian of my one-year old niece that year.  This baby girl was pure joy from the second she was born, but her sudden arrival in my daily life as a single mother already raising a high school aged daughter was challenging for me on many levels.  At that time, I had comfortably settled into the phase of single-parenting I affectionately referred to as “not needing to be involved at every waking moment.” I had recently stepped into a space of freedom that I had never known, and had adapted rather well, so you can imagine the jolt to my system at age 41 (eeek!).  It was a time of conflicting emotions for me and an enormous adjustment for my daughter.  I was instantly spread very thin between two children who were fourteen years apart in age.  I was searching for “all things baby” so I could set my niece up in my guest room with a crib, changing area, clothes and toys.  I hadn’t had a car seat in my car in a decade.  I was scrambling for scarce full-time daycare so I could go to work each day. My beloved (and well earned!) free time vanished before my eyes.  With all this change came incredibly challenging times with my niece’s extended family. 

Surprise! The unexpressed grief from my past loss experiences came roaring to the surface.

I did my best to survive and adjust to a new way of life that year.  Tidbits of my feelings would come out, but I was quick to shut them down.  I felt I didn’t have time to deal with them and maybe they would just go away.  Surprise again.  Nope.  They didn’t go anywhere and by the time the holiday season came along, I didn’t have any more room to store my feelings.  It was like my emotional dam broke sometime after Thanksgiving that year.  For the first time in my life, I identified and openly shared my feelings of grief.  

I needed to acknowledge that some of my loss experiences had changed me.  How could they not? Pushing to resume the same traditions proved difficult because I wasn’t recognizing and releasing my own pain along the way.  I wasn’t allowing myself to grow after my losses had changed so much in my life.  Opening myself up emotionally allowed me to embrace new traditions and to set boundaries that supported me through this time.  Accepting that holidays may not always be joyous for me has helped me to reduce the stress and anticipation I used to feel.  I decided to stop hiding my grief.  I decided to stop pretending that I’m happy and ok when I know that I’m not.  I am mindful that over planning and committing to the same traditions can cause stress for me.  I know that I need to remain flexible, yet still make a plan to celebrate in any way that I choose to.  

The importance of following your heart has never seemed more essential than it has become in 2020.  Our entire world is grieving for those we’ve lost this year, and everyone is experiencing vast changes of how we do just about everything – especially celebrating the holidays.

Seeing so many people wholeheartedly doing what brings them joy and peace this year has inspired me.  Some are choosing to decorate much earlier and feel the peace that can come from twinkling lights and a much slower pace to the season.  Many are planning alternative and safe ways to connect to their family and friends.  (Hooray for Zoom!)

I know that there are many others who are experiencing the raw emotions of grief and opting to take this time to seek support and care for their broken hearts without the usual expectations or larger holiday plans weighing on them.  For anyone who is in this place in their grief journey, I hope that you allow yourself to express your emotions and mark these days in ways that restore and comfort you. 

You are allowed to cry. 

You are allowed to laugh. 

You are allowed to do both at the same time (I know I have).   

Navigating grief through the holidays is not easy. Some years seem simpler than others. I have no idea why that is.  My story will always be my story and I will always miss my loved ones who are not at my holiday table.  Losing them will forever be a source of great sadness for me.  By holding space for my grief and honoring my own needs, I have been able to discover my personal route through each holiday season.  

My sincere wish for all of you is that you compassionately navigate your own route through the holidays and that the magic of the season makes its way to you.

Be well, friends.