Thawing A Writing Freeze

I have been struggling to write. Re-phrase that - I have been experiencing a total freeze as far as writing is concerned. It amazes me that I’ve even been able to put together this initial admission, given that for the past few weeks - this is now the third - I have been unable to see thoughts from my mind in shape-form on paper or screen. 

It sounds ridiculous, (definitely to me personally), to state ‘I can’t write’ as though that word grouping constitutes a factual statement. Not uttered dramatically, emotionally to illustrate ‘just stress’ or something, but rather physically meant. It’s like, ‘c’mon, just do it.’ But I’ve tried and I CAN’T.

This is not like me. True, I find writing ‘important things’ hard - academic writing has always been equated with pain for me - but not messages to connect with others or my own daily experience-reflections/thoughts, where blockages have now also been experienced. (I’ve just about managed a few social media posts, but things as everyday as text- messaging, emailing, shopping-list-compiling and even handwriting in my own diary are requiring larger proportions of energy to form than they did before.) And I have never before experienced that draining sensation in cheeks prior to nausea, or shortness of breath, or racing/restlessness of mind, or heaviness in arms prior to trying to write. 

Why? Why now? 

Honestly, there are multiple elements I could take aim at for blame, even the dog (actually there would be some truth in that…) But when I think more deeply, I blame Martin…or rather, to be a bit fairer, I blame my continuing reaction to the death of my brother Martin. 

One of the hardest parts of an academic research process for me is the literature review stage, not simply because it can be overwhelming (not to mention confusing when you’re dealing with different disciplines basically coming at the same thing but from different perspectives without talking to one another, and if they did life would be so much easier…), but because it can sometimes spark a personal rethink in relation to ‘what happened’. For instance, on 1st April this year, I noted to myself:

“The more I get into this literature alongside my transcripts the more I find I am getting angry about my brother’s death. If he had been approached differently, been listened to or seen through a different lens, I think things could have been different. He was let down because of a system wedded to rigid definitions and protocols and had these been challenged, or had there even been thought to challenge the way things were being viewed, he could still be here. And I think he knew that too. He wasn’t recognised as a person; people didn’t come to him (rather than him to them); he was made to feel ‘wrong’ in line with others’ (‘professional’) notions, readings and agendas. I believe I might be coming to understand my brother and his death more than I have before. But with that is also much anger and upset. I feel, at this point in time, he might/could have been helped, that his death was preventable (which is not entirely how I viewed it before), and that realisation is so very, very frustrating and painful.” 

Perhaps this offers a clue as to a contributing factor prompting inaction when it comes to the literature review writing I need to do - I don’t want to engage with it because it hurts me to think on the applicability of the arguments to my own brother’s experiences, trajectory and ending. Maybe I am running away from writing what is actually the most upsetting part of the project for me personally. My reading has made writing emotionally scary. And then that blockage in one area connects to other writing tasks,  and so begins a spiral into an overall inability to write….

What to do about this then? It’s not like I can come this far into a PhD, do all the research designing, recruitment, fieldwork and even a couple of conference presentations on the data (in the midst of a pandemic, FFS) and then not write the thing up. What I think might be necessary at this point, in line with my approach to to the umbrella-topic ‘mental health’ in my work, is a reframing of the meaning behind/of this thesis overall. Yes, it is largely being done because of and for Martin, but it is ultimately not about him, (or indeed, for that matter, about me/my experience of what happened to him). It is (has to be) about what can be learned from him and the mental health story around him at that time. There is no way, as still-distressing as it is to utter, to change what happened to my brother, how he was treated and what actions he himself took - all that is possible to say is, ‘it is time to make present meaning from the past.’ My brother brought me to my research, my respondents, even the literature, but it is perhaps time now to let his hand go in order to concentrate on finishing, writing, this work and presenting the lessons (I’ve) learned through it in and for the present.

Throughout my life, I have used writing to clarify what I think - I have difficulty deciding what I think before I write, (which is why a lot of writing organisation/planning advice etc. for ‘writers’ block’ is pretty useless for me personally…) Today is no different - I did not realise I was thinking about letting a part of Martin go (for the first time) until I wrote about the standstill in my writing. A couple of tears have been shed at that realisation, can’t lie, but equally acknowledging this appears to have aided a small internal sense of hope regarding my ability to write. It is Martin’s birthday next week, and whilst it might seem logical that I struggle a bit at this time of year, it still also greatly surprises me that I do - my body is often more aware of the (build up to) anniversaries than my thinking mind. Contextualising my difficulty with writing with that detail, however, explains much and helps me to move away from the negative fixation and project catastrophizing. Maybe it will be a matter of rebuilding from small periods of writing time, but I’ll be grateful to find and feel myself composing sentences for even just five minutes to begin with, such activity signalling to me that this particular part of the on-going grief journey no longer retains omnipotent power, but rather has been assimilated in a helpful way.

So, Martin, thanks once again for (however unintentionally(?)) aiding a re-focus of my mind during a time of stuckness, and whilst I will move away from you just a little to get this work done, know that you have inspired much. I wish I could go back with the knowledge I now have (because you led me there) to fight better for you, (not least so you could basically write this thesis thing yourself tbh…).

 

Happy Birthday, with love always, Feather X