I haven’t been writing. The act of typing those words made me feel a bit sick, but I guess self-reflection is important, even (or perhaps particularly) when it induces nausea.

Writers are supposed to write, ideally every day. I haven’t done that for weeks. My discipline has been derailed. It’s not for a lack of projects or ideas. I’m awash in those, yet I haven’t opened an in-progress manuscript since…okay, I just checked. June 3rd. 🙄 Ugh.

When I ask myself why this is happening, plenty of excuses stand at the ready. The world is a mess, so I can’t focus. My job involves too much computer time, so when I’m off the clock, I don’t want to stare at a screen. Doubts about why I write at all tug at my gut, poking my insecurities. What’s the point? It’s a waste of time. Find something useful to do.

Of course, it’s pretty shitty to be stuck in this place. I’m disappointed in myself. I fear that I’ve fallen too far off course to self-correct. I consider my unfinished work, cringing at the thought that it will remain that way.

Sometimes, when I’m in a rut like this, I engage in a mental exercise I call Be Your Own Client. If I were counseling myself right now, I imagine I’d say: “Accept the slump. It’s okay. It’s not permanent. If the inspiration to write isn’t there, do other things to support your writer self. Read. Go outside, explore, make discoveries. Spend time with loved ones. At some point, you’ll write again. It’s inevitable. The need to write is at your core. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t. So give yourself a break.”

Okay, that actually helped. I suppose a longtime counseling career has its benefits.