Why I’ve Been Gone, How I’m Coming Back

Hello dear reader,

I’ve been gone from this space for awhile. There are many reasons, some clear and concrete, others a little more murky. I was sad, for one. My beloved dog of ten years left the world this past May, and I just didn’t really feel like writing. I felt like sleeping, and working out, and painting my front porch. So I did those things. Summer was at once a quiet and trying time. My husband and I started talking about when we’d have children. I grieved my little dog and the person I was when I was with him in waves. I slept. I ran. I painted my front porch.

I didn’t feel like writing.

Fall came, and school began, and as any public school teacher will tell you, fall is no time for expansive creativity; in my world, fall is often the most difficult season of teaching -- my freshman kids aren’t used to high school, and they suffer, and I suffer because they’re suffering and making my life difficult. It’s the middle of October, and I’ve cried at least once a week since August. Don’t get me wrong; I enjoy my work. But there is no tougher audience than a room full of teenagers, especially for a girl like me who is highly-sensitive, introverted, and who spent her own high school years struggling to belong anywhere.

I haven’t had time to write.

Lately, though, a certain spirit has been awakened within me. I’m craving something. For awhile, I haven’t really been ready to admit what it was. I turned to books, and podcasts, and daily gratitude practices. I thought that if I consumed enough of someone else’s creativity, my hunger would be satiated. But I’m still hungry. I’m hungry for my own creativity.

I want to write.

So I’m here again. I don’t know how long I’ll stay. I hope you’ll be interested in some of the stuff I want to say. And I hope you'll forgive me if I go away sometimes, again. 

I have a thought for you: Think, for a moment, if you let yourself go away when you felt like going away.

Think about stopping if you’re tired, or if you don’t have anything more to say. Let there be some silence. (There is a lot of power in silence. I’m using it a lot this year when I teach. I get a moment to quiet my own brain, and my students are somehow easier to work with, too.)

Don’t worry what might happen in your absence; this is about true tenderness for your own tired heart. Yes, you might let someone down. But from a rested space, you’ll be so much stronger for the many who will wait for you. Many will wait.

So, if you need it, you have permission to take a break. To stop trying so hard to meet every single deadline, every single expectation. You have permission.

Sleep. Move your body. Take care of your home.

Come back when you’re ready.

As ever, thank you for reading. 

Beth, who went away, and then came back.