When Things are Hard
How or even why to do your creative work when there's so much pain in the world
Oh, things are hard right now. Whatever is going on or not, in your own particular home, it's impossible not to be affected by the pain in the world right now. Blood running through a sea of concrete dust, floods raging, the earth trembling under our very weight.
Where is refuge for a tender creative heart?
And if, like me, you've got some extra hurt going on in your life right now— perhaps sickness or a loss or hurt of some kind, it can feel difficult enough just getting up and out of bed, let alone finding the energy or space to create or use our gifts in the world.
I know. I'm struggling to write, to work on anything these days. As I wrestled with what I wanted to say today about this, I kept getting up from my seat, because everything I started to write seemed ridiculous or inadequate or impossible, or all three. And then, I came across a beautifully written piece by one of my writing teachers, Sonal Champsee, and it talks about this very thing.
I say the piece is beautiful not because it floats or soars or offers me or you an answer—it’s neither gauzy nor gold-spun. Its beauty lies in the fact that she writes about this topic with honesty, authenticity and nuance. And that feels particularly rare in so many places these days.
I don't often share the words of other people in this space, in part because I want this to remain a conversation of sorts, between you and I. But Sonal talks to this struggle so well, painting the complexity each of us faces with carrying on our creative work in the face of so much pain and suffering.
It needs to be shared. There's nothing I could add, really, that would make it better.
So, if you're inclined, and if you’re struggling with the feeling of how or why to do the work you do in the face of everything today, or if not today, then everything tomorrow or at some point, I invite you to read her words. (Note, in the piece, she talks about writing, but her message applies to all the work you’re being called to do—your soul’s work—whether it is writing or something else.)
When I read it, I felt seen. I felt witnessed. And I found a bit more steadiness. And, if you don't want to, of course, I understand. I'll simply leave you with this quote that’s part of the heart of the piece, although there is much more:
“… as I started writing in the first draft of this, for writers, writing is the thing that connects us back to ourselves. It’s the creative expression that grounds us, that centres us, that feeds our soul. It returns us to ourselves. And we need that to get through the worst of times.
Whether we’re trying to do everything we can to change things or whether we don’t have it in us to look or whether it’s something that feels a little half-assed in between those two, we still need to connect to ourselves. Perhaps after doing that, we can find the resources we need to either get more involved, or perhaps to draw a necessary boundary and to be involved while protecting ourselves from emotional exhaustion, or perhaps simply to be able to keep going however we are going.”
And with that, I pick up my aching heart, yet again, today. I show up trembling and with tenderness, and I try to turn to my work in the world.
I hope you do too.