I get it. I get the fear, the feeling of deprivation, the guilt and the anxiety about rejection.
I get the fear that you’re no good, that you will let people down, that you will alienate the people you love or hurt their feelings.
I get the fear that if you become the writer you crave to be, you will lose friends or family. The fear that they will abandon you because you’ve changed – or will think you’ve abandoned them.
If your identity has previously been that of a struggling writer, tortured artist or creative with lots of potential, I get the fear of becoming happy and successful.
I get the fear of expectations from others. If you finally write that thing, what if that’s all there is and people keep asking you, ‘What next?’
I get the fear of turning into the kind of person you have always hung shit on and laughed at but secretly wanted to be.
I get having an identity you’re familiar and comfortable with – say the working-class hero or little Aussie battler – and being scared of not being that person anymore. Anything new is a little scary. People’s response to change is often fear, and their response to fear is to be conservative. Lock down. Stay the same. Don’t take risks. If you have a self-limiting view of yourself that doesn’t include being a writer, it’s hard to imagine something else. In that scary new world, will you still be you?
I get that you feel deprived of those fun, soothing, mindless things you love to do. Or the chores you feel you must do.
I get the feeling of deprivation that comes from the thought of not having your home, relationship or work in perfect order because your chaotic writing has taken over and you have downgraded the importance of your immaculate grooming, set bedtime, spotless house, speedy responses to email or ticking off all the things on your ‘to do’ list.
I get the fear that your status as the reliable, ‘on call’ drinking/chatting/hanging-out friend will be revoked. The anxiety about hearing friends say, ‘What’s wrong with you? You’re never available anymore!’ When people say you’ve changed, it means you’re no longer living life their way.
I get the fear of being deprived of a sense of peace or a calm mind. The fear that all this writing will uncover feelings, emotions or memories that are scary and deep and perhaps take you a little further in your journey than you are comfortable with.
I get the guilt. The guilt about not doing what you should, being who you should, or acting the way you should. The guilt about abandoning people, commitments or responsibilities.
I get the guilt about taking time to do something that feels selfish. Something that feels as if it is solely for you. (It’s not: if you are happy and feeling creatively sated, that’s excellent for everyone around you too.)
I get the guilt about spending time doing something ‘indulgent’, like writing, when you could be doing something ‘worthy’ or ‘useful’, like making money or cleaning up or looking after something else.
I get the issues about rejection. Rejecting who you have been. Rejecting your habit of running away from who you truly are and what you want to say and instead facing it head on. Rejecting initiations and obligations and expectations. Being rejected by those you love, being rejected by people who do not like what you are doing, having your work rejected as not good enough. Rejecting your self and your stupid writing and your idea that you could actually do this.
Seriously, who the hell do you think you are? You think you are good enough to do this, worthy, that you deserve to spend this precious time just writing? With no guarantees. No promises.
Seriously. I GET ALL OF IT.
What would you say if I told you that writing is the best thing you can do for yourself and all the people around you?
It is! But don’t do it for that reason. Do it because it’s your life, life is short and writing will make you happy – and that’s going to benefit everyone.
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Yes, there are people who do not want you to succeed. But the people who try to stop you, guilt you or discourage you will drop away or change their tune when you let them know that you have decided, you have committed, and that’s that. You may have to dig your heels in. You may feel uncomfortable. You may have to put up with a bit of a tantrum from them. It may even lead to a big change in the relationship. If the relationship is solid, I guarantee that change will be a positive one. Just keep going. They need to lead, follow or get out of the way.
If you are not writing because you are worried about neglecting or abandoning people, you are someone who is relied on, taken advantage of and probably used a bit. Someone who is available. An empath, probably. And if you do dig your heels in and prioritise your writing, there will no doubt be fallout, both good and bad. Stay on your flower. Be reasonable with the time you take and expect a bit of a sook from those who feel they are being ‘abandoned’. It will do your relationship the world of good for you to do your own thing. It will either strengthen the relationship or expose the truth about it – that it’s been imbalanced or one-way. The other person may feel they are losing you. But they’re not. They are getting the full you. And more importantly, so are you. Barry Humphries said, ‘Failure is not a test of a friendship. Success is.’ No truer words said.
When my ex and I were breaking up, we had this horrible night. I had planned a sit-down dinner for thirty. I can’t remember exactly what happened, but he was helping me get ready and then he said he felt sick and took to the bedroom and wouldn’t come out. It felt like he was digging his heels in. He had helped get ready and did help pack up, but I felt he was trying to make a scene.
I slept in the spare room for a few days after that. It was the first and only time I did. At first he tried to defend himself, but finally he apologised. It was fine that he took himself to bed if he was unwell, but the detonating way he did it had upset me.
In the heated discussions over the next few days about what had happened, I remember him asking, ‘Why is it always you doing everything for everyone? You holding the dinners? You looking after everyone else’s children? You taking food over to people’s places?’
‘I enjoy it. I love helping out. Why does it matter to you? What are you missing out on?’
‘Do they repay you? What do they do for you?’
‘Of course they do, but that’s not why I do it. I do it because I can and I enjoy it.’
I’m not sure what happened in that little exchange, but what it left me with was this thought: ‘Catherine, what would happen if you put half or even a quarter of the energy you put into helping others into your career instead?’
The next year to the day I launched my first book of published opinion columns. It was not my first book, but it was the first book I wrote that was really me.
Imagine if you put half or a quarter of the energy you put into beating yourself up and feeling bad about the life you are not living into the life you want to live.
Just imagine.
I look at the reluctant obligation and effort people put into some relationships or pursuits and wonder if they could get the same positive return with 80% less effort and slog. I am not referring to the joyous and happy time people spend fixing and cleaning their homes, caring for their children, parents, friends, partner and family. And I’m not talking about the basic essentials of looking after ourselves. I’m talking about all the stuff people wrongly think they should do for others. Much of the time it’s unnecessary, pointless and, in the case of people who you feel ‘need’ you and you ‘need’ to help, I suggest damaging and more for you than them. Much of your help is preventing them from becoming independent, self-sufficient and able to self-soothe.
It’s about giving yourself a fabulous excuse not to live your life by meddling in someone else’s, getting strokes along the way from them and other people. ‘Aren’t you wonderful! You are such a good daughter/mother/friend/son/father/neighbour.’
More often than not the constant helping, listening, supporting and advising is about setting up a co-dependent relationship and you enabling this learned helplessness to stop you feeling abandoned. Not them.
They’re fine. And you know what? They may kick up, but they’ll get over it.
*
Shopping, cleaning, fixing, fiddling and preening in order to maintain a level of presentation well beyond what is necessary but simply for your own image is a waste of time. Making sure everything is spick and span to prove something to others is a waste of time. No-one truly ‘lives’ in a clean house. Not one creative person I have met lives in an immaculate home with the maintenance, laundry, gardening and housekeeping up to date at all times. Margaret Olley, one of Australia’s most famous artists, had this to say: ‘I’ve never liked housework. I get by doing little chores when I feel like them, in between paintings. Who wants to chase dust all their life? You can spend your whole lifetime cleaning the house. I like watching the patina grow. If the house looks dirty, buy another bunch of flowers, is my advice.’
I find apologising for not having cleaned is easier than cleaning.
SARAH MILLICAN
Our place is clean enough to be healthy and messy enough to be happy. Occasionally I go to someone’s home and think, ‘Wow! This house is amazing. Clean, tidy and beautiful. The lino’s not chipped, the floorboards aren’t worn, there are no cobwebs, mountains of washing or piles of random stuff.’ Reflecting on the state of my own place, I then ask myself, ‘But how many books have they written?’ Invariably, the answer is: none.
Clothes don’t have to be ironed. Stock does not need to be made from scratch. Gifts do not require an all-day shopping outing. Simplify, outsource and cut down where you can. Also: don’t look. When I was breastfeeding, I would sit in a certain chair in a certain part of the house staring at the same section of our home every time. I was amazed at how many cobwebs there were, how much dirt on the skirting boards, how badly the windows needed a clean. My mum’s advice? ‘Don’t look.’ I had only noticed because I was staying in the same place for such an extended amount of time.
That’s one of the reasons going out can be so relaxing. Cafes, holiday houses, cinemas and libraries – they get us out, so we’re not sitting there thinking ‘that wall needs a paint’, ‘those windows need a clean’, ‘that floor needs a sweep’, ‘I really should put a new seal on that door’.
I gave a talk about writing at a girls’ school once and told them that one of my mantras was ‘do the writing first’ – before cleaning, shopping, dishwasher-unpacking or clothes-folding. A teacher came up to me afterwards and told me that all she did before and after work and on the weekends was clean. That’s all she did. And it was never finished. I said, ‘Yep. That’s right. You can clean forever. There is never a point when it’s all done.’ She looked at me and said numbly, ‘I had three months long service leave last year. All I did was clean. All day, every day. And it still wasn’t enough.’ I often think of that teacher. By the way she talked about it, I don’t think she liked cleaning. I know some people do – not many, but a few. They find it cathartic and a good physical work-out. She didn’t say she hated cleaning, but she seemed to be compelled. What she was trying to prove to whom, I don’t know. To be honest, I don’t think she did either.
If you are a person who feels compelled to clean, you have to set yourself a limit. Or perhaps you may find it easier to write somewhere else, like a library.
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One Saturday night I was riding my bike to the movies on a date with my boyfriend and the boys were at home looking after themselves. I rode past the house of a family from the boys’ school and I could see and hear a few families getting together for Saturday night pizza, wine, ice-cream and a DVD. Something I did frequently. For a fleeting moment, I thought, ‘Should I be doing that? Should we all be at another family’s place having quality time and not the boys at home on their own and me out for a date?’ Of course we shouldn’t have. I don’t know where that fleeting thought came from. The boys love being home on their own and I have always had a busy social and work life. It was one of those odd moments of buried, outdated and illogical thoughts popping up uninvited: the idea that you should be with your children as much as possible and any time to yourself is an indulgence.
I thought about another family I knew. Every moment of their time after school and on weekends was scheduled. They all did everything together. It was compulsory. ‘Let’s all have breakfast together, then we’ll do the gardening together, then we’ll all go shopping together, then we’ll all go and visit my cousin for dinner, then on Sunday we’ll all have creative quiet quality time together, then we’ll go to the cemetery where my grandparents are buried, then we’ll all have a bike ride together, make biscuits together, go and visit my sister together …’ One of the parents was always sad and frustrated about not being able to find time to write. I said, ‘You don’t all have to do things together all the time. Why don’t you take the kids out to the pool in the morning and let your partner have some time to herself, and then you nick off to the library for a few hours in the afternoon, or vice versa?’
They were parents who wanted to have ‘family time’ and do the best for their kids. I remember thinking, ‘I bet they could achieve whatever result they are hoping for – happy, well-rounded kids, strong relationships, happy memories – with as much as 80% less effort. And then the parents could have some time to themselves. And the kids.’ These parents seemed to feel that the more time and energy they put in, the happier their family would be and the better their kids would turn out. Not so.
After a gig once, I met a young woman – perhaps in her twenties – who told me her dad was bipolar and she was one of five kids. When the youngest started going to school, her mother spent every Wednesday playing golf from two til six p.m. Everyone just fended for themselves and got their own dinner. They were all fine. Happy, got along and the mum just took the space she wanted.
I wonder how many parents and carers would take the time for themselves if they knew everything would be alright. What would it take for them to justify it to themselves? What would it take for them to know it was good for their kids to see them looking after themselves? What would it take for them to brush off any criticism, internal voices or complaints from clutchy kids or partners? What would it take for them to know it was a healthy, productive thing for them to do for themselves and for their family? To model self-care and prioritise independence and resilience and let the people in the household fend for themselves a bit?
Unfortunately, for most people who feel guilty about taking time to write and who see it as an ‘indulgence’, the only way they can justify it to themselves is if they frame it as being good for everyone else.
Look at where you could put in less effort, less time, less money, less stress and anxiety and still get the same result. Do you really need to spend all that time ironing? Cleaning your car? Visiting your partner’s relatives?
*
A quick word on emotional vampires. These people are very good at manipulating others. They know how to push people’s buttons and make them feel indispensable. They are users. Emotional vampires may have substance abuse issues, serious mental health problems or be in abusive relationships, and you spend a lot of time looking after them, but they never, ever really get any better. Occasionally they might seem to improve a tiny bit to encourage you to keep helping them. But when you pull back because it seems like they can look after themselves, they get a bit worse so you stay. They tell you they need you and if you weren’t there helping them they could come to serious harm. It’s not true. If you walk away or pull back on how much energy you spend on them, they will just find someone else to use. Sorry. That’s harsh, I know, but it’s true. They will chuck a tantrum first and push all your buttons. You just need to ignore it and move on.
You cannot help these people. They may not be able to be helped ever. This may be the best they will ever be. If you were able to fix or heal them through your efforts, they’d be better by now. In most cases your constant attempts to fix them or make them happy are stopping them from finding permanent, sustainable ways to fix themselves. Chances are, as well as preventing you from living your life, you’re also making them worse.
I read a book on narcissistic personality disorder once. The foreword was written from the perspective of the narcissist. This line stuck with me: ‘There are two people stuck in this web. The difference between you and me is that you can get out.’
These people need professional help. If you are not a professional being paid to help, pull back, set boundaries and cut contact if that’s what you need to do.
It may be hard, but look seriously at your motivation. How much of it is about you? How much does helping them give you a convenient excuse not to live your life to the full?
One of my Gunnas is a psychiatrist called Steve Ellen. He counsels carers of people who suffer from serious substance abuse, acute mental illness and anger issues. He tells these carers: ‘Look, you can spend 100% of your time absorbed in this – 100% of your time worrying about it, researching it, trying to find solutions and attempting to get this person well. But you know what? It won’t help. It’ll make 15 to 20% difference, tops. And it may not help at all. It may just make you feel you are doing something to alleviate your guilt and feelings of helplessness.’
Remember: Sometimes the best way to solve a problem is to stop participating in it.