Sitting With Discomfort or Really, Do I Have To?

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That Backyard Is a Mess

It’s happened enough times I should not be surprised. I’ll reach a moment in my writing that is so blessed unpleasant and uncomfortable that I simply cannot continue. At such moments, I’m likely to find clever justifications for not writing. I need a rest, I tell myself. Or, that backyard is a mess. It therefore follows without question that the only time I can take care of the weeds is during the few hours I’ve earmarked each day for writing. Best of all excuses, it’s only for one day, I tell myself. It rarely is.

I Am Not a Machine

Even now, I hear the judgment and despair in my voice. I need to be gentler with myself. After all, I’m not a machine, and there’s no reason to expect myself to be able to put down words every day. And yet, I do.

What I’d like myself to recognize is that all stages of writing do not involve stringing together sentences and developing scenes. Some stages are entirely about being uncomfortable. You betcha! This is not pleasant. It pains me to admit it and I suspect I am not alone.

Supposing I Ignored the Discomfort

Over the years, I’ve tried lots of strategies. It’s the one thing for certain with me. I have never expected this business of writing to be easy and I have long recognized the closeness of failure. Isn’t it time I admitted the truth, at least to myself? It’s useless for me to carry on when I am feeling too uncomfortable to continue.

Common wisdom tells us that as writers all we really need to do is to persevere, as if the writing will take care of itself, as if it’s merely a matter of keystrokes. Keeping going, they say, sprint past self-doubt. That’s all fine and well, except for me the moments of discomfort are no more involved with a perpetual state of weak ego than any other moment in the process and it is not lack of confidence that stops me from continuing.

Lessons From Life

Pretending uncomfortable feelings do not exist has been of no help whatsoever in my so-called real life. Let’s get serious. When I am angry with my soulmate and partner, it does neither of us any good for me to push forward ignoring the situation. If I swallow my feelings, they fester inside and turn poisonous—mostly to myself but also to my partner.

Uncomfortable feelings that are denied are never resolved. They don’t go away. They simply worsen. There is only one thing to be done and that is to sit in the discomfort, to have the challenging discussions, to reflect on my own part in whatever is going on. Most of all, I need to be quiet and listen and think.

Same With Writing

Yes, honestly. Sitting with discomfort and listening is as much a part of writing as pulling together sentences. Why is it so? I cannot tell you. This is not fun, but let me say this—holy mamma, is it ever worthwhile!

Have you ever read a piece of fiction or a bit from an otherwise engaging memoir in which you can sense that the writer has not dealt with their difficult feelings? I swear, my hackles rise. No, honestly, I get genuinely offended. I want to shake the writer, or at a minimum face them down and say, hey you, stop hiding. Tell me the truth.

After the Suffering

After a five-day pause in discomfort so unpleasant I did not sleep well, when I finally sat down to write, I was surprised to discover I was ready. Whatever churning had happened, whatever listening I’d been doing, it helped. All that seemed impossible to think about five days earlier landed softly on the page. I could not believe how fleshed out it was, all this stuff that I could not articulate earlier. It came out layered, I hope, maybe even sublimated a little, possibly even ready to be shared. Perhaps.

Likely, a month or a year from now when I encounter another uncomfortable pause, I will have forgotten what I am about to say. If I am brave enough to sit with what troubles me and listen, the writing that eventually comes will be better or at least the best I can do. And isn’t that all that any of us hope for?

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