How I Edited the Me Out of This Is Still Me

Last Sunday, I was bored.

I’d had a busy week and was really looking forward to having an entire weekend with the husband. We haven’t had a weekend of no plans since before our holiday in July.

We were going to pop out to a few places, nothing too exciting, and I couldn’t wait.

Then the lurgy struck our house yet again. Thankfully, it wasn’t me this time. I don’t think I would have coped with another bout of being bedbound.

Our weekend plans were out, and we stayed in. On Saturday, the husband happily watched football whilst I served him lemsip, and I pottered around the house, but when Sunday came, I was bored of that. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but it wasn’t anything I was doing.

When I discussed this with my therapist on Tuesday, she asked me why I didn’t write a blog post. I told her I didn’t have anything to write about.

As we got deeper into the session, I realised this wasn’t true. I have plenty to write about. The problem is when I write, I treat it like a piece of work, editing it within an inch of its life until there is barely any of me left in it.

Achieving my dream of writing for a living has sent my blog writing sideways. All this learning and growing as a writer is great, but the little blog I’ve been nurturing for nearly eight years has suffered.

I’ve edited the “me” out of This Is Still Me.