Avoiding Writing

I keep avoiding writing. The other day I had a better time doing dishes and laundry than I was writing this blog, Algebra almost looked good… I said ALMOST!
I have been writing, but it’s not what I am supposed to be writing. I have been into self-reflective poetry, trying to figure out the meaning of life so intensely that I have not gotten far on my blog. I’m justifying it to myself with “at least I’m creating something.”
I know I am not the only riding the fence of lethargy. Pretty sure everyone is feeling the deep-dark-winter blues. We all have been waiting for the groundhog to keep his promise of an early spring (still a very strange practice in my mind.) Memes of the Coronavirus are everywhere, and the reality is that everyone I know is sick right now. Our household has passed it from one person to the next. Sharing our love in germs for at least one round of the stomach flu, a sinus-earache combo that was gnarly and now actual influenza.
Luckily, I have just now started to feel my worst. After years of taking care of sick children, I have learned to prolong the inevitable for as long as I can. My flu-cooties are catching, but the sickness I have been struggling the most has been of a different variety.
My mental health has taken a semi-expected-bachelorette-party-style-trip-to-Vegas... Without my consent, might I add. I say semi-expected because this mental health time of need comes around the time of change in my life. Making changes, I am attending new therapy, dealing with my issues, and have a lot of negative triggers around this time of year. I have shared before through my poetry that I am an adult survivor of childhood trauma and... I am still under construction. I am working on changing each memory and false thought I have one at a time until they have all been Marie-Kondo’d.
Unwrapping the years of trauma has not been easy. Combine that with my full-time mom, student, life duties, and the real-life cooties, and I’m overwhelmed, to say the least. I’m tired, depressed, manic at times, and very (very) anxious. When I am anxious, I write, it’s one of the coping skills that helps the most, and personally, I feel that the intense emotion that comes out during these times has created my best work. So why do I feel so guilty?
I feel guilty because I am not creating content because I do not know what to write about other than what’s going on in my day to day life. I feel guilty because my homework is only getting a fraction of the thought and effort. It should be. I feel guilty because I can’t do it all, and I want it too. 
Part of my healing is letting go, it is letting myself get less than 100% on a quiz, it’s asking for an extension because I don’t feel good. It’s allowing myself to take snow days, sick days, mental health days, and holidays off. Its acknowledging that sometimes I am going to write sad poetry and make bad art. I’m going to write pages in my journal about my dirty fridge, piles of laundry, snotty kids, and muddy dogs, I’m not always going to be perfectly put together. It’s acknowledging that I’m struggling, and sometimes a good blog comes from the heart.
I hope that if you are struggling too, you will follow my lead. Grab a good book, a cozy warm space surrounded by all that is you, and some time to reflect and heal. It’s the perfect combo when you don’t feel good.