The other day I was thinking of designs for my Redbubble shop when I remembered something from my past. Something I thought was wrong with me but in fact, was the essence of me.
You know that feeling of unease? Where you can’t put the finger on what it is but you definitely know it needs to change? It was time to make some changes.
“Yes, I think you might have ADHD”, the doctor said. “Funny thing though, I just came back from an intensive course in mental health, and what you are saying is in line with what we learned about patients with ADHD.”
enough now, stop procrastinating, you know you want this!
She looked at me and nodded as she was agreeing with herself about the coming conclusion. “I am sending you to a psychiatrist to evaluate you properly.” It felt good to be heard. Still, something felt off.
The day before the appointment was a beautiful spring day. You would think Hollywood had staged my view for the coming scene. It was a Sunday actually, just warm enough to open the windows so I could let in the fresh air, and the sounds of nature, into my apartment. Wow, this really is shaping up to becoming a cliche, but bear with me here.
As I was enjoying one of the first spring days, an urge was building within me as though my body was screaming through every cell in my body:
The intensity of the feeling surprised me.
I had been writing for a bit, on and off over the years, to get familiar with my writing voice and the desire had been there since I was in my teens. But, with no love for grammar, I gave up on the idea. Apparently, at this moment it was beyond my thinking mind and more of a demand from the essence of me. Like it was saying: enough now, stop procrastinating, you know you want this!
Sometimes you just got to override your mind needing the explanation for every action and just trust your gut feeling. In an hour I wrote 2000 words, with tears streaming down my cheeks at times, not due to what I wrote, but more to do with me giving up the pointless fight of not becoming a writer.
As I closed the laptop I took a deep breath and looked out the window. Somehow it all seemed clearer and (yes, I am going to say it) more vibrant outside.
I write so I can breathe
The constant underlying stress was gone and for the first time in what felt like forever, I could go outside and enjoy a cup of coffee and really enjoy the sounds of nature and the humming of the city.
PS. The next morning I called the psychiatrist as soon as they opened their office and told her: “Apparently I have an imagination that needed to be heard.” She was ok with that and told me if I needed to have a talk in the future, let her know and in the meantime, enjoy my writing. I have not called her since. Instead, I written whenever I get that uneasy feeling in my body.
So I can breathe.
This text is taken from the third episode of my daily podcast series called “For the Love of Storytelling”. Get your daily dose of love for storytelling here:Become a Patron!