At the Bottom
I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand what finally sent me over the edge.
Was it unresolved grief?
Probably.
I miss him—Cliff—terribly. I especially miss our long conversations at the end of each day: how we would process life together, make plans, and simply talk. Without him, I feel directionless.
Was it my physical health? A few months after Cliff passed, I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. I chose to ignore it rather than research it or try to master it. At that same appointment, the doctor also mentioned Type 2 Diabetes and a fatty liver—none of which I took too seriously. I preferred to take the medication rather than change my lifestyle. But, having never taken medication before, my stomach revolted. It was havoc.
Or maybe it was my compulsion—to finish the book.
The one on forgiveness.
Years ago, I had promised myself, the public, and my God that I would write a book about forgiveness after the murder of our 13-year-old daughter—forty years ago. I wanted to compile my survival story, all my little secrets, into a kind of self-help book, hoping to help others in their dark moments.
I didn’t think it would be that hard.
I had worked through my grief over Cliff by completing two major projects: Chasing the Light, Cliff’s autobiography, and Lavish Mercy, my romance novel. So tackling another book didn’t feel like a stretch. I even finished the first draft of the forgiveness book, right on schedule—January 17.
But then doubt set in.
I wasn’t happy with it.
I still hadn’t found the right title, the right voice, or even the right process. I carried the entire manuscript around in my head—replaying it over and over—never quite satisfied, never at peace with it, yet too sick to work on it any further.
I still played Wordle each morning, but that was the extent of my joy, finding myself bogged down in the muddle of swirling, disjointed words—the worst writer’s block imaginable - caught in a swirl of 60,000 words.
Perhaps my burnout was a combination of all three things:
Thrown into the deep - I encountered something .... did God send a big fish to rescue me?
I don't know -- it was something.
"The truth is, you don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. Life is a crazy ride, and nothing is guaranteed." — Eminem
Was it unresolved grief?
Probably.
I miss him—Cliff—terribly. I especially miss our long conversations at the end of each day: how we would process life together, make plans, and simply talk. Without him, I feel directionless.
Was it my physical health? A few months after Cliff passed, I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. I chose to ignore it rather than research it or try to master it. At that same appointment, the doctor also mentioned Type 2 Diabetes and a fatty liver—none of which I took too seriously. I preferred to take the medication rather than change my lifestyle. But, having never taken medication before, my stomach revolted. It was havoc.
Or maybe it was my compulsion—to finish the book.
The one on forgiveness.
Years ago, I had promised myself, the public, and my God that I would write a book about forgiveness after the murder of our 13-year-old daughter—forty years ago. I wanted to compile my survival story, all my little secrets, into a kind of self-help book, hoping to help others in their dark moments.
I didn’t think it would be that hard.
I had worked through my grief over Cliff by completing two major projects: Chasing the Light, Cliff’s autobiography, and Lavish Mercy, my romance novel. So tackling another book didn’t feel like a stretch. I even finished the first draft of the forgiveness book, right on schedule—January 17.
But then doubt set in.
I wasn’t happy with it.
I still hadn’t found the right title, the right voice, or even the right process. I carried the entire manuscript around in my head—replaying it over and over—never quite satisfied, never at peace with it, yet too sick to work on it any further.
I still played Wordle each morning, but that was the extent of my joy, finding myself bogged down in the muddle of swirling, disjointed words—the worst writer’s block imaginable - caught in a swirl of 60,000 words.
Perhaps my burnout was a combination of all three things:
- the grief of being alone,
- the discomfort and uncertainty of my health,
- and the weight of my own expectations around finishing the book.
Thrown into the deep - I encountered something .... did God send a big fish to rescue me?
I don't know -- it was something.
"The truth is, you don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. Life is a crazy ride, and nothing is guaranteed." — Eminem
RSS Feed
