The body as a tool of the (creative) trade

On the fundamental importance of taking care of our containers

I am writing this at a standing desk in a coffee shop in Manchester, where I am supposed to be spending several days in meetings and writing, but so far have mostly been lying on the floor in agony. After a wonderful week in London with my eldest daughter, we arrived here late on Friday night after a long train delay. With little warning my back seized up and it took me half an hour to bend low enough to get into the car. I stood in the dark car park hanging onto Mr K, listening to both daughters crying from worry, and felt so cross with myself. It’s not the first time I have had back problems. For many of us writers it is an occupational hazard, but this time it has hit me harder than usual.

As Mr K patiently and gently took good care of me, I wondered why so many of us find it so hard to take proper care of ourselves.

When I’m on a book deadline it’s a different story. I only sit in an ergonomic chair, and I am militant with taking breaks, going on walks and doing yoga throughout the day. I generally eat well (even if that looks like a heated up fish pie from Tesco with a big side of salad) and I drink tons of water. I rarely drink alcohol. There is no room for aches and pains or illness. The book has to get written. But when those kinds of deadlines aren’t looming, and my only responsibility is to myself, I let things slide. Or rather, I go full into taking care of others mode, and forget about myself.

I have written many times about how important the body is for writing. Not just for holding a pen, or housing the brain and heart, but for sensing the world and both carrying and releasing stories. I believe that all forms of writer’s block are simply energy blocks.

We can become blocked or drained for many reasons, including stress and exhaustion. We can also carry past criticism, assumptions and beliefs in our bodies. These blockages can manifest in many ways, including physical pain, tightness, mental fog, circular thinking, numbness, or a frustrating sense that something is there but we cannot grasp it. Any of these manifestations can further feed the block, as can trying to think our way out of it. But after writing millions of words, and supporting thousands of writers to write, I have come to understand that writer’s block is not a problem we can fix by thinking harder. Writer’s block is an energy block. Shift the energy, shift the block. I know this, and yet sometimes I still forget long enough for my back to seize up.

As an aside, I have noticed that blocks tend to show up in my physical body in three main ways:

(i) The knot: a problem to unravel

If I am trying to grapple with a complex idea or reconfigure a project, my tangled thinking often shows up as a knot, usually in my stomach, shoulders or back (oh hello old friend). My natural tendency is to push, to research more, to think harder, to stay longer at my desk. But these just tighten the knot. Instead, when I back off and drop into my body, fully ground myself and stop forcing, the knot finds a way to unravel itself. I think my current problem is related to this – it’s a mixture of not taking care of my physical body, and not taking the time to unravel a complex idea I have been grappling with.

(ii) The inkblot: an emotional blockage

When my writing bumps up against a long-held belief or story, or an old wound, I can sense a dense cloud pushing up against the base of my lungs, restricting my breathing or causing a dull ache in my heart space. It feels as thick as an inkblot, and on difficult days it moves up into my head and lodges itself behind my eyes. My instinct is to turn away or push it somewhere I can’t see it. But that doesn’t make it go away. Instead, if I turn towards it with compassion and write around it, or hint at it with words, even if I don’t write it directly, in time it tends to dissolve.

(iii) The fog: an absence of joy

When I am trying to write about something I am simply uninterested in, it shows up in my mind and body as fog. It can be hard to pinpoint a specific location, but my limbs feel heavy and my mind is dull. I cannot muster the energy to deal with it, and I procrastinate. But if I acknowledge the feeling and give myself permission to write about something else, the fog lifts and I don’t have to abandon writing altogether.

These might be familiar, or your blocks may show up differently. When we are blocked, the pressure builds and we need to release it in some way: physically (like running, singing or dancing, or having a massage, acupuncture or other body work), mentally (like journaling or talking about it), emotionally (like crying, screaming or laughing) or spiritually (like energy work, chanting or spending time in nature). Writing itself can help too, although rather than forcing yourself to write about the thing you are stuck on, it can be more effective to write something else for a while.

Where possible I bring movement into my writing practice, but when I have spent several hours at my desk, I take inspiration from the walking meditation known as kinhin in Japanese (経行). In some traditions of Buddhism, kinhin is practised between long periods of seated meditation. To try it, put your left hand in a fist and cover it with your right hand. Holding your hands this way in front of your chest, walk in a circle around the room, or outside. Taking one full breath for each step ensures a slow and gentle walking pace. I often get up from my desk and walk around my small study, or the garden, in this way, consciously slowing my breath to slow my steps, or slowing my steps to slow my breath. It feels like a brain shower after a long writing session.

Taking care of our bodies helps us to take care of our writing, by delivering us to the page vital and ready. Movement is not only important to keep the ideas flowing but also to keep the body from seizing up. We know this, but we forget, like I did these past few days, and perhaps these past few months (I haven’t had a book writing deadline since last October).

When I hobbled into the acupuncture clinic yesterday the sweet Chinese doctor took one look at me and said ‘This is not a today problem. It is a long-time problem.’ As I lay on the massage bed, needles all over my back, neck and legs, struggling to breathe from the moxibustion smoke, I decided that this weekend will mark a turning point for me. No longer will I take my body for granted. From now on I will respect it as a tool of my writing trade. My husband is a pilates teacher, for goodness sake! I have no excuse.

I am sharing this as a reminder to me, and to you if you need it, that unless we take good care of ourselves we simply cannot take good care of those we love, or do the work we want to do in the world, to the fullest extent possible.

In case of interest, here are a few of the things I use to help me, when I am at home and doing a better job of things than I am right now (no affiliations):

• Humanscale Diffrient ergonomic chair (It’s pricey but amazing. I have had mine for several years and it is just as good as when I got it.)

• Backfriend – a portable back support to use in public places like libraries in cafes if sitting for a long time

• A cushioned anti-fatigue mat to stand on (like this one) when using my standing desk (the one in my office is a castoff bench from an old school science lab, but I do also have one a bit like this). I also take care to stand on both feet with my weight evenly spread.

• Regular dance breaks. I am currently loving Fireball (feat. John Ryan) by Pitbull(!)

• Epsom salts in the bath to ease muscle stiffness

• A Shakti acupressure mat (like a bed of nails) - I use it before bed to ease any muscle stiffness and encourage a deeper sleep. It’s uncomfortable for the first couple of minutes and then it is bliss! (Also yoga nidra meditations for deeper sleep, especially Jennifer Piercy on Insight Timer.)

• Comfy shoes for walking (I am in love with these slip-in Skechers which don’t require bending down to put them on. I know I sound old saying that, but I don’t care)

• Beautiful notebooks to encourage me away from my desk to write outdoors (Currently using Katie Leamon, Notem and an unbranded one I bought in Japan which has the most amazing smooth paper)

• A small rucksack for carrying my stuff when out and about – I use a rucksack to distribute the weight evenly, and keep it small to limit how much I can carry. I am currently using and loving a small Roka London backpack made of upcycled fabric.

• A yoga mat in the corner of the room to remind me to stretch, often. I love my Manduka one, and Mr K uses a double layer of YogaMatters mats for his classes.

• Pilates and yoga classes (I try to go three times a week. We actually have a Reformer at home which Mr K uses for 1:1 sessions. It’s funny how we often don’t use what is right in front of us – I am going to start using this more once I am home)

How about you? Do you have any tips for taking care of yourself when you have long hours at a desk? All thoughts welcome!

And for any of you who live with chronic pain, I am sending you love and hoping that you have found your own ways to cope, and a robust support network to hold you up. This weekend has given me an insight into how much slower and tougher everything is when you cannot move freely and easily, and I have thought of you often.

Much love

Beth Xx

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