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Blocked. Totally. There hasn’t been much new ‘big’ writing. By this I mean the writing that fills the page. There have been small posts. And funny ditty’s. And re-sharing of other big writing, which gets it out to more people so it’s more seen and heard. But when it comes to really writing, once again I’m not doing it.

I’ve written before about not writing, and it seems to help. It’s like naming the elephant. Somehow, when I write about it the words materialise.

I can’t say for sure what has choked them off, but that’s how it feels. Choked. As though the flow has been pinched off at the place when it comes out into the world. So the words are there. Writers block is not a lack of words. It’s a lack of writing them down.

I’ve been busy doing other things. Good, real and important things. Coaching and creating and organising and training and supporting. I’ve made a commitment to myself not to whinge so much, so that might have meant that there’s no place for some of the words because they are whingy. Sometimes I read other things I’ve written and wonder where it came from and if I’ll be able to access that place again. I read my own work and it’s so good (and I hope this comes from a place of humility, because I am not trying to be vain) I almost can’t believe I wrote it.

And sometimes there’s nothing to say. There are words. But no meaning. And I could spend time trying to write them down but they would almost be as bad as saying nothing at all. In fact they would be as bad. Maybe worse. I have been known to snarl at my children ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say it all”, and then we all sit in silence in the cloud of not-niceness wondering if there’s anything to say at all.

Mostly I don’t write when there’s not enough space. And I’m super good at filing my space, even though I’ve learnt to be amazing at creating it. Filling space is the next hijack – the one that happens after you learn that you need space and you get stuff in place so you can have it. And then you have it and as soon as it sits there, offering the gloriousness of nothing – BOOM – it gets filled up. And for me, even though the stuff I fill it with is good and real and important, it’s not writing – which for me is the goodest and realest and most important thing.

Writing feels like the most selfish thing I could be doing.

Before I make time to write I make sure everything else is done, everyone else is looked after and there is nothing else I could be doing with that time. It doesn’t help someone directly (like coaching), it doesn’t feed my family (like menu planning and grocery shopping and cooking) or deepen my relationship with my husband (like spending time with him) or make money (like marketing) or make my space feel open (like cleaning the house) or make my children feel loved (like playing with them) or connect me to people (because it’s solo) or change the world (like training people). But then, when I do it, it indirectly does achieve all of those things. Mostly because it’s so a part of who I am, and when I do I’m more like me and when I’m more like me I’m happier and more joyful and all of those things happen easily and anyway. So not-writing is pretty selfish too, as far as that goes.

In relationship mentoring the other week, we were doing intimacy questions and I said the worst thing someone (my husband, anyone) could call me would be boring. But it wouldn’t be that. I pretty much 100% know I am not boring. The worst thing someone could call me would be selfish. And yet, to write, I need to be more selfish.

I’m always teaching people to be more selfish. To put themselves first. The frame-up is to put themselves first unselfishly. Which just means to do it a way that feels good instead of fighting to get some time to yourself or taking time without making sure everyone knows why and what it’s about for you. In a household with 5 children and an adoring husband (whose favourite thing is to spend time with me) I find covering all bases fairly difficult. Read *mostly impossible. And that is my struggle. I’ve gotten better at it, but it’s not entirely sorted because often I feel guilty and often (especially when I’m close to the edge of what I can manage) they ask for more. And you get what you vibrate right? And people mirror to you something you need to learn? Are my children really selfish, or are they just better than me at doing what makes them feel good?

If you put “selfish” into the online thesaurus (which I did because that’s something I would do), you get all these nasty words like: egotistical, greedy, narcissistic, self-centred, mean, mercenary…. but further down the words start to change….





Definition and context. The yin and the yang.

Selfishness is a form of self-love. And we all need more of that right?


Author Fleur

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