Most of another week flew by without feeling I have accomplished anything. Yes I have worked hard at getting well–lots of lying around, drinking hot lemonade and being cross with myself at not getting better. After all I never get sick. Right?

But then it got worse. The frustration at wasted time. Then the should I be doing this anyway chatter. The self-deprecation. I’m not good enough. Why bother? There are far better writers out there….etc etc.

Eventually I got to consider-the-uses-of-this-time. I realized it can be a time for cleaning out and healing in other ways. A time for remembering my purpose, or refocusing. And asking how I can accomplish this purpose in the best manner for me? And this process brought me back to writing, once again, because I feel I have something to say.

But even if I don’t get published again and kids don’t hear my marvelous conclusions on life, the act itself of expressing myself through writing nourishes and so I will continue.

Continue until another bout of self-doubt happens and I have to re-remember this part of the process.

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