Why I Keep Returning to Nature
From my journal: I’m reading Vanessa Villareal’s essay “The Water Clock” and I had to take a break. My throat closing. The stress of remembering. My mind turns to the robins [nest] on the a/c. How nice it’s been to watch and observe. To listen to. Slow steady movements and protection. My heart is softer. I’m reading this essay in order to find language.
Each paragraph gives me pause, exhausts me with memories of my own. Her prose is beautiful and lyrical where mine is like cement. Or at least, that’s how I feel. Finding how you speak, to be too plain, to compare, is dangerous. Because you want to, you need to be, you.
*
I needed some language to explore pregnancy, childbirth, and loss, so I took this book out of the library. (Buy it if you can. I wish I owned it. So We Can Know: writers of color on pregnancy, loss, abortion, and birth)
Anthology edited by Aracelis Girmay
When reading something difficult in order to find language you don’t quite have yet, you’re reaching into that place in your mind and body. If it resonates, a collision is happening between your experience and what you’re reading. For me, my lower back pain returned. Leg pain. GI issues. Headaches. I took naps and journaled about letting go of the guilt of resting when I needed to rest.
I keep returning to writing the hard stuff and what I do to take care of myself. The shitty days are going to happen. The struggle is going to happen. I can only share with you my journey from the middle, writing from the middle of the mess. I have had no choice but to build in the systems that will support me to get through the struggle, to get through the hard days, to be able to swim through muck when it’s keeping my eyes shut.
Slowing down, moving with intention, going for a walk. What to do when you’re suddenly activated? When your nervous system is going haywire?
This is why I keep returning to nature.
5 REMINDERS TO MYSELF I’M SHARING WITH YOU
1. Build in space to spread out and grow. Forget pressure.
I feel like I’ve heard this 100x: Nature allows for seasons. The writing routine is no different. Days of rest, review, and retreat are necessary. A slow season is not a failure. You’re sowing seeds.
2. Create rituals, not just schedules.
Instead of a rigid word count, try a gentler anchor: “I’ll write for 30 minutes” or “I’ll show up with tea and a notebook.” Repetition has helped me go into automatic writing mode. Is the writing any good? Debatable. But the words have to show up to make them better. Over time, you’ll find your own pace. And if you’re like me, the pace will change. Go with the flow but, go.
3. Track progress in layers.
Not all progress is visible. (Check my blog post about moving at nature’s pace here.) I joined an accountability group for this round of revision. Because when I initially started writing this, I had JUST joined, I won’t’ talk too much about it. During the first week, I kept a promise to myself about moving with intention. I can’t revise everything at once, so I’m trying to focus on one or two big aspects of each section (my manuscript is divided into 4 sections, but I’ve divided it further into 8 so I can focus on each one per week). Keeping a log of small wins: a section revised, a new insight documented. Roots are growing even when we can’t see them on the page yet.
4. Accept that some things need to compost.
You might need to write something badly before it becomes brilliant. I’m still working on some new material I need to incorporate and… it’s bad. Bad as in, the puzzle pieces have some design on them, and they’re scattered on the floor and table. I might step away and return with clarity. That’s not lost time—it’s part of the natural cycle.
One more gentle reminder I need:
Books take time. Don’t rush what’s meant to evolve. The story will unfold in the rhythm it needs, not the one imposed from outside.
One more time: DON’T RUSH WHAT’S MEANT TO EVOLVE. YOUR STORY WILL UNFOLD IN THE RHYTHM IT NEEDS, NOT THE ONE IMPOSED FROM THE OUTSIDE.
*
Going back to #2 about rituals, saying ritual sometimes feels much better than schedule, better than the word count, better than the page count. What I mean is, I’m a very liminal space person, and language matters. This is not to say that counting words or pages is never useful! Especially in early drafts. But it’s absolutely disheartening (read: it sucks) when something that has consistently worked for you for a while suddenly…doesn’t. Working in these little rituals has helped me feel more satisfied with the work.
Life has its disruptions and eras. I had to care for my father for a little bit in August. It was a disruption. I had to accommodate and change my schedule. I wasn’t sure what that would look like. I was lucky to be able to focus on a single word. I try to live by “prepare for the worst, hope for the best”. It’s not about avoiding expectations, but building in that flexibility, and mantras, to be good to yourself. No one has ever been able to shame me into loving myself or genuinely caring about something. Shame has consistently had the opposite effect on me. Shame spirals suck energy, dropping me into the depression pit. And then crawling back out? Fuck that. If I have to move slowly, I have to move slowly.
Journal prompt:
What do you want your creative rhythm to look like? What’s your dream schedule? Without comparison, but looking at your life and body, what’s your reality? How can you “adopt the pace of nature” in a world of deadlines, distractions, and self-doubt? Do you know your natural creative rhythm?
