I write. That is what I do. All the time.
Sometimes I hear from a friend, or someone I don’t know at all, that my words made a difference for them–made them feel understood, not alone, inspired them. And that is why I write.
When I write, life makes more sense to me, and I feel the big feelings like thankfulness or courage or determination, and I begin to understand complicated subjects as I wade through them sentence by sentence. And that is why I write, too.
So . . . I write.
Except, not a whole lot these last few months.
The dry spells feel like “failure” and “fraud” to me. But the calmer, more thoughtful part of my brain reminds me of a big lesson I’ve been learning this year.
“Please put your own oxygen mask on first, before assisting others.”
Because if you run out of oxygen while trying to help others breathe, you can’t help anymore.
Only by ensuring your own health first, can you continue showing up to help others.
Do you realize, once in a while, that you’ve been running around trying to help others with their oxygen masks, neglecting the fact that yours has slipped off?
And what do you do when you realize that you’re showing up for others so much that you are no longer showing up for yourself?
Have you tried just keeping that pace up? Ignoring the burning in your lungs, insistent on showing up for others, even if it means you’re suffocating? What happens then? Do you finally hit a wall? (Or do you know you will?) And does your depleted energy even help the people you’re so determined to help?
So my challenge for you today is this:
Can you remember that your own oxygen mask has to come first?
And in an exhausting year like this year, full of sad and angry and lonely people, can you still remember that your own oxygen mask has to come first?
Are you allowed to disappear for a minute?