Writing is somewhat of a safe haven for me. While, the unappealing aspect of writing is the period of time(s) when I’m unable to tap into the safe haven. Many people who experience these periods of time refer to it as writers block.
The feelings that I’m unable to share, express, or reflect on, become overwhelming and I shut down. Psychologists have presented the research on people’s patterns of behavior when it comes to functioning as an adult. That research showed people tend to either be under functional or over functional when experiencing anxieties or stresses. Brené Brown, my favorite, talked about this phenomenon at length, but I don’t have any articles to refer y’all too at this point.
Anyways, I see my patterns of under functioning, when I shut down under stresses or anxieties. While, I know this, and I experience writers block, I haven’t found an intervention to help during theses times. So, I wait it out. Once I return to functional, I can try writing again. Easy!? Not exactly, but functioning normally can’t be that fun anyway.
Now, I don’t measure my functionality everyday, but a year ago, yesterday, I tripped and fell. I fell face first into a curb and laid unconscious for under a minute. I came to and declined an ambulance, emergency care, and proceeded to a friends where I cried looking in a mirror. A year ago, today, I woke up and sought emergency care. I miraculously did not have any facial fractures, my eye pressure was normal, but I had a severe concussion.
I cried for days. I could not function normally and unlike writers block this was continuous. Weeks had passed and my face was healing incredibly. My mind was not healing as well. I couldn’t quite explain the fog that I lived in for the months that followed. Sleeping every night between 9 and 10 hours. Napping everyday between 1 and 2 hours. My ears would ring randomly but I never scheduled follow up appointments with the providers I was referred to.
Nothing was worse than my inability to concentrate, to read, to remember, and my inability to write.
The safe haven, I once could tap into, seemed out of sight. Today, tearing up, I write this little blog knowing that, a year from now, I will only continue to heal.