Dear all
The anxiety in my family is ramping up this week as we head towards going back to school. Both of my teenagers struggle with school, yet we are choosing to keep going with it. We are aware of the alternatives, but this is our path for now. They had a taste of staying home during the pandemic and that didn’t work for them either. Anxiety runs in the family. My main concern as we head into the autumn is helping them manage it.
One of the ways I share understanding with them is by telling them stories of my anxiety. But I’m aware that when I talk, I’m scratching the surface, sharing an anecdote that can be reeled off in a moment, for example, I used to throw up every day before work and have panic attacks before meetings. That job was too much for me. I didn’t have enough control. I’m better off being freelance.
But these statements, these stories I tell others, don’t explain the complexity of the situation and of mental health. I am only telling a tiny part of the story, if that. I reflect and worry about what message they are getting from what I tell them. That jobs are too much? That I couldn’t cope with the work environment? My son asked me what I’ve tried. All of the things, I say. Walking, yoga, swimming, meditation, medication, mindfulness, supplements, counselling, homeopathy, spending time in nature, moving out of London, not drinking alcohol, I even gave up sugar for a while. But also, creative writing. I’ve only had one panic attack since I began creative writing evening classes twenty years ago. And my anxiety, while still there, is manageable. I can spot the signs sooner now. I live with it. I tell him he'll need to keep trying different things until he finds a blend that works for him.
Then I remembered one of my assignments on the MA, when I wrote about my anxiety to help me deal with it, because while writing helps in one way, the process also gives me another set of worries to deal with. My inner critic is loud and while I’m comfortable writing in a notebook, sharing my work is a whole other matter! I want my son to read this or at least other writers who have written about mental health. He doesn’t want to read my work (none of my family do and this at least gives me some freedom with what I write) but I thought I’d share an edited version in case it resonates with someone else too. Plus my tutor told me it was funny in places!
Autumn 2014
I sit at my kitchen table, late at night. It is quiet; the children are sleeping upstairs. I can hear the rush of the odd car passing and the neighbour’s dog barking. My shoulders and arms are tense, my face is close to the computer screen looking for mistakes. I am staring at a document, 12 point, double spaced; my submission to a literary agent’s bursary scheme for their novel writing course. It is a bursary specially for Welsh people. I am Welsh, I have a novel in progress set in Wales. It is a brilliant idea. This is my way in. I have totally got this.
I press send and write in my journal, ‘if I don’t get the bursary, I won’t stop writing my novel, I will carry on writing my novel, this is my story, it’s a good story, I won’t give up.’ I look up the agents on Twitter, I follow the links to their websites, and these thoughts run through my head: I am not like them, I can’t talk to them, I won’t fit in. I can’t imagine talking to them. That is not my world. If I do get it I won’t go. Who do I think I am?
Rejection
I didn’t get the bursary. I stopped writing my novel.
Beth Miller talked about writer resilience during one of our publishing classes. It took 12 years from finishing her novel to publishing it and she encountered many setbacks along the way. She said: ‘You HAVE to have rejections before you can get published. You can’t get published without them, basically.’ I asked her how she kept going in the face of such resistance, and she said, ‘unless you keep going, you won’t know the end of the story’. This thought intrigued me; the idea that we need to have endings in our stories and in our lives.
Two years after the bursary rejection, I started the MA in Creative Writing at Brighton University, which fits in with Beth’s advice to: ‘Go on a writers’ course’ when you get fed up of rejection. The fear of rejection continued to haunt me, and as a woman, I am not alone in that. According to a Mslexia survey in 2015, 19 per cent of the 2000 women that took part do not submit their writing because they are afraid of rejection. One submitter said of rejection, ‘I do take things to heart and get upset. But I fight through it and carry on’. I wanted to fight through too and decided the more I submitted and the more rejections I got, the easier it would get. Although I believe in targeted submissions rather than firing them out, I started a submissions spreadsheet to record my attempts. The more irons I had in the fire, the less attached to each one I became. With a spreadsheet, I could see the work I was doing and the occasional acceptances were pleasing, but seeing the word ‘rejected’ over and over in the ‘results’ column immobilised me one day.
I am rejected, I am a reject, they don’t want me, my work isn’t good enough, I am not good enough.
I am eight, sitting on the edge of the bath, shivering even though I am dressed. My unshaven father with his curly, wiry black hair, tangled, unbrushed, is telling me whatever happens from now on to remember he still loves me. And then he is gone.
I decided to change the word ‘rejected’ in my spreadsheet to ‘not the right fit’. I smiled to myself. I was tricking my inner writer. I could do this. In a Mslexia feature, Karon Alderman, author of six unpublished novels, considers the point of continuing to write in the face of rejection. She says, ‘I write because I can and because I love writing, the process of it’. And that is the nub of it. It is why I write.
Apart from rejection, there are other wellbeing risks to being a writer. I have written what I’m drawn to and considered that the stories bubbling up are ready to be written, but they can be sometimes emotionally challenging if they deal with memories or difficult feelings such as anxiety. The MA course brought back memories of a time when I was a publications editor at a children’s charity I in the late 1990s.
I worked on projects to raise money and awareness for the charity, that also had benefits in the community, for example, music workshops for children with a London orchestra. I wrote about these projects for the membership magazine, then became editor of the magazine, as well as acting head of public affairs, all within the space of three years.
I carried out my duties on a river of anxiety that was continually splitting, churning and changing course. Though I experienced the symptoms of panic attacks and anxiety, I didn’t recognise it as such or label what was happening in my body until much later.
1998
It is lunchtime. It could have been any of the lunchtimes at that job. When I didn’t have a lunch meeting, I either went to the docks or the city farm; anywhere I could breathe.
The water laps against the dock and the masts clink in the breeze. The sun is out. I can feel its heat despite the coolness of the wind. I wonder what would happen if I climbed onto one of the yachts and stayed there; how long it would be until the owners came back. What if I asked, begged them to take me away with them? I breathe with the rhythm of the sail flapping in the wind and I unwrap my tuna melt panini. I have waited too long; the cheese has solidified on the tuna mayo in an oily slick. I can’t eat it. Why didn’t I get a salad? I pick off a piece of bread from the edge, put it in my mouth, hold it there on my tongue. It feels as if it swells up and the back of my throat closes. I can’t do it. I spit it out. I watch the pigeons fight over the morsel smothered in my spit. I’ll get some Lucozade on my way back to the office.
I did not start writing reflectively until I left that job in 2000, and I’ve always connected the easing and management of my anxiety with starting to write creatively and freely, however, day to day, sometimes filling notebooks is not enough and the old feelings creep back. Writing this, I’m starting to connect stressors that exist in writing and publishing with anxiety too. I’m also realising that it wasn’t just me, that the working environment I was in created stressors that are not unique to that organisation, but could be more widespread in the writing and publishing sector as a whole.
Before I wrote morning pages each day bleary eyed with a cup of tea, my routine was to hang my head over the bathroom sink, turn the tap on and wash my vomit down the plughole. I felt the strain in my eye sockets, in my ribs and the curl of my toes.
I didn’t stop throwing up each morning until I left my job and boarded a plane to Mexico. Dangling my feet in the rooftop hotel pool as the palm tree shadow lengthened over the still water, I felt ravenous for the first time in months, possibly even a year.
Mental health of writers
Dealing with anxiety and other mental health conditions isn’t new for creative writers, as Daniel Nettle says, ‘madness and heightened creativity are [thus] very different edges of the same sword.’ In his book, Strong Imagination: Madness, Creativity and Human Nature, he explores the psychosis that runs in creative families. Nettle urges creative people with psychosis in their families to take particular care of their mental health by having a positive outlook, being brave and keeping healthy and active. Jungian psychoanalyst, Meredith Oenning-Hodgson, connects creativity with anxiety and says if we can be with the anxiety ‘it will yield gold, it will yield me [...] it morphs into a creative space open for discovery.’ My estranged father has schizophrenia with psychotic episodes, so I count my own among the creative families Nettle explores. I feel lucky to have connected my anxiety with creativity and found an outlet, but at the same time, since writing and publishing have their own stressors, it is vital to take care of my mental health.
1998
It started when M asked me to take over the magazine. He’d sacked the previous editor for not putting the funder’s logo on the front cover. I knew she was resisting being led by advertisers as well as the dubious ethics of the funder. He knew I wouldn’t refuse.
I remember when he gave me the news. I remember the stale smell of coffee on his breath tinged with the sourness of alcohol and mints. I remember the damp underarm stains as he clasped his hands behind his head, leaned the chair back on two legs, and smiled, double chin tripling.
Later that day, M’s reflection appears in the black floor to ceiling window. I don’t turn round. I wait, pretend to be absorbed in my screen.
“A present for you,” he slaps a file on my desk, then pushes aside my notebook and papers to wedge himself on the corner.
“The flat plan and J’s file. Next issue is to be published in a month. We’re booked in at the printer for three weeks time. All words and pics to be with A for designing in two weeks. H will help.”
“What’s a flat plan?” I look up at his face to see a smirk.
“You’ll figure it out. We’re off to the bar now. Coming?”
“I’ll just get my head round this first. Catch you up.”
“Oh and G said he’ll give you a tour of the printers, take you out for lunch. Call him.” His words fade as he walks away.
***
I read a blog post which reinforces the need for resilience, urging us to keep banging on doors to be published and if we want to self-publish, we need to know about layouts, cover design, marketing, blogging. This is all while doing ‘some of the work that pays your bills, be it teaching or editing’. None of this work takes into account taking care of a young family or ageing relatives, or while managing long-term health conditions. Reading these lists reinforces the fact that I’m not alone, that being a writer comes with a slew of pressures, some self-imposed, some industry wide. It helps me put them into perspective and move towards managing them.
***
1998
It is half past six in the morning. The sky is grey, low sun filtering through the clouds. I am wearing my raw silk vintage cream coat from Steinberg and Tolkien over my tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt, work clothes folded in my bag. I walk along Brixton Road to the gym. I pass three yellow boards. Witnesses wanted for stabbing at four in the morning. Only two and a half hours earlier.
I’m meeting H for an early Tai Chi class. We both know we need to keep calm for work. She has her hair piled on top of her head messily. She is perky, even this early.
‘Morning - you made it!’ She does a little skip and claps her hands together. ‘This is going to be just what we need.’
I pretend to hold a beach ball when I breathe, but I am not at the beach. After the class, there is a news report on the gym television that getting out in the countryside and walking is good for you. I wish.
On the way to work, the chief executive, A, calls my work mobile. She’d seen the same tv report and wants me to create a project getting children out into the countryside. Says it’s vital for their health. The funders will like that. And while we’re at it can we make an activity pack to inspire people to get outside more. But it will need to be done soon, because of the current media interest.
H and I arrive at work stressed. We decide that tai chi has taken up too much time and it would help us manage things better if we used that hour working. Imagine how much we could get done in an hour. Not going to tai chi is like giving ourselves an extra hour to work. Bonus.
Later
I am standing at the fax machine, exchanging scrawled paper notes with one of the sponsors, trying to get him to approve the final version of the article about their project in the magazine. We enlarged the logo, mentioned their company name in the opening line, switched the photo for one including the banner we’d created for the project. There can’t be anything else wrong.
I am waiting for final approval.
I am waiting for approval.
I need approval.
I seek approval.
I want approval more than anything.
I am wearing my new French Connection black polo neck ribbed jumper and floor-length size 8 black skirt, fitted around my hips.
“Skinny bitch,” L says as she rounds the corner and sees me. I curl my toes in my shoes.
“High metabolism,” I reply.
“You’re so lucky.”
***
Mental health is an inclusion priority for the Publishers Association but maybe they need to tackle workplace stress alongside their training on managing mental health and mental health first aid. According to a 2017 Unison survey, more than a third of people feel stressed at work and 92 per cent of people found they had been under too much pressure at work at some point. Stress can occur with unrealistic work demands and over-controlling, harassing environments.
1998
I am on a train from London to the north of England with a funder of the charity. We are travelling for an evening celebration of the music project. It is dark outside. I open my bag to get out my notebook as the plan was to have a pre-meeting; an update on the projects. When rummaging, I realise I have two sets of keys - one in my bag and one in my pocket. My boyfriend won’t be able to get into the flat until I get home at about one in the morning. He doesn’t have a mobile phone. What will he do? The funder gets gin and tonic in a can from the bar, I say I’ll have tea. He sees me flustering. He rubs my thigh to reassure me. I freeze, shift in my seat, change the subject.
Here’s what I want to say to him now:
what the hell do you think you’re doing abusing your position of power like that who the hell do you think you are what do you want me to do put my hand on your hand do it back you idiot are you that lonely i thought you had a wife i thought you were one of the nice ones i thought we got on well you know this is my first job you know i’m doing my best you know i’m out of my depth at times i know you know because you said something to my boss but i can’t say anything back because why can’t i say anything back i can’t say anything back i can’t say anything i can’t speak
i’m not speaking
i’m not eating
i don’t eat much
i don’t eat
i don’t exist
Just over half of the 388 respondents to The Bookseller’s survey on sexual harassment within the book industry said they had experienced harassment. This includes authors and freelancers and is not confined to the book industry, but is another stressor and reason to develop resilience. As is the attention to detail involved in taking a first draft all the way to published.
1998
The printers’ proofs are spread out on the meeting room table. Huge sheets of shiny paper with brightly coloured pages of my magazine, in the order they need to go into the printer to come out and be folded. It looks good but I’m not sure what to check. Do I read it all again? G, the printer, is drinking tea and chatting to M in the doorway. He’s going to wait and take the proofs away with him. I don’t have time to read it all. They said only big things can be changed now. The printers’ plates are made up. It would be expensive to change them. I scan each page, I don’t know. I can’t see anything wrong with them. I’ve read them a million times. I’ve sat with the designer in his office, going over and over corrections, hyphens, en-dashes, spellings, capital letters, font sizes and too many spaces after full stops. My eyes zone out. ‘They look fine to me,’ I say. M doesn’t even glance at them.
A couple of weeks later, the boxes arrive ready to be mailed out. I have the envelopes and address labels stacked and ready. We have biscuits and tea. People gather for a Friday afternoon of envelope stuffing.
The chief executive comes out of her office, ‘oooh are they here? Exciting! C, open this box for me, would you? My nails...’ . She picks up a copy, strokes the cover and then: ’What’s this? What does this word mean? What is this word on the cover? Smimmingly? Play Week Went Smimmingly?’
‘Swimmingly. It says swimmingly. Let me see,’ I say. It doesn’t.
The value of publishing
For so much potential stress, the benefits of writing and publishing need to outweigh the downsides. Writing and publishing can create change. Although Mslexia points out the inequalities in the publishing industry for women, the magazine also campaigns for change, it creates community and space for new writing and is a champion of the benefits of writing by encouraging women to write and submit.
In a recent review of what’s changed in the past 20 years, Mslexia outlined that although there have been more women award winners, more men are still being published than women. 30 per cent of the top 50 bestselling books were by women in 2017. Men are three times more likely to be reviewed. Also, 12 out of the 15 Booker winners from 2000-2014 had a male protagonist, including those written by women. And so the campaign to get more women published continues along with the features on the publishing world, creative support and space for publication. Part of the battle is about encouraging women to that what they write is valid, needs to be heard and is good enough to be published.
1998
L is a children’s author and illustrator who won a prize, jointly organised between us and the corporate funder. As editor, I decided a feature on the author necessitated a trip to Dorset to interview him at home.
In the downstairs toilet, I hang on to the solidity of the white ceramic sink and breathe. It’s okay, I tell myself. I can do this. It is just lunch with a writer and his artist wife. They are two lovely people.
I want this to be my future
I want to be them
I want to write
I want to live in the country
I want kids that need picking up from school
I want wellies in the doorway, notes on the fridge
I want
I am wanting
I submerge my fingers in the water as it swirls down the plughole, lift and shake, dry them on the soft, peach hand towel.
After a lunch I don’t eat and an interview I don’t record, he rummages through the wellies to find me a pair that fit and we take a walk in the woods behind their house.
***
L: It’s nice out here. You know it’s nice to win prizes, but it’s not everything.
Me: No?
L: Take the winner of the older category. I mean, I don’t rate her book much. Did you hear her speech? So resentful against all those rejections. Everyone gets rejected. It’s part of the job. It’s bloody hard work. And it’s all about marketing. They can stick a sticker on the front of your book to sell a few more. The publisher gets more money and people think the corporate funders actually like books. What about you? Do you have plans for the future?
Me: Um, well, I guess I don’t want to work in London for ever.
L: No, who would want to do that?
Me: Maybe be a writer...
L: You’re already a writer, you’re here and you’ll be writing this article.
Me: I guess. A proper writer. You know, one that writes novels. Failing that, I’m going to dedicate myself to learning how to make the perfect cappuccino. [Laughs]
Writing Prompt
This week’s prompt is a reflective one, but you can also write it in a creative way or a mixture as I’ve done above.
Write the story of your creative journey. Or the story of what brought you to writing.
Another exercise I find helpful is to write a dialogue between my inner writer and my inner editor. What does your inner writer really want to say? How is your editor getting in the way? And in which ways is having an inner editor helpful?
Further Reading
Hunt, Celia, Therapeutic Dimensions of Autobiography in Creative Writing (London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers, 2000)
Oenning-Hodgson, Meredith, ‘Anxiety and Creativity’, Psychological Perspectives 49:1, 111-121
Ulster University, Changing Arts and Minds: A Survey of Health and Wellbeing in the Creative Sector, 2018
I’m really enjoying your posts, they are very relatable and when I have a moment I’ll respond to them properly.