Caffienated Stories

On losing my rhythm and trying to find it again

In recent months, I’ve been hanging around in Notes and in the posts and comments sections of writers whose words have been nourishing me and comforting me through a challenging time. My own posts had run dry. I simply could not find my voice.

I’ve barely had the energy to read even a handful of the wonderful publications I’m subscribed to but, this last week, I’ve had some time off work and have thoroughly enjoyed catching up on all that’s been happening in the community of creatives and mothers that I’ve found myself a part of on this platform. One of the pieces waiting in my inbox was a Soul Circle journal note from Beth Kempton, exploring the idea of ‘rhythm’. And there was the question I’ve not had the energy to face: “What kind of writing rhythm are you in?”.

Well, I'm not. In a rhythm, I mean. I’ve felt out of step with everything recently and any rhythm I find myself in is one of going through the motions. There is always something else’s beat to march to and my own has got lost.

My beautiful, brilliant toddler is so unbelievably high energy at the moment and all kinds of demanding with BIG feelings spilling out all over the place. I’m just trying to keep up. My job is also all kinds of demanding and whilst I love the variety of what I do, the wearing of many (many) hats has me reeling some days. I’m just trying to keep up. My health is all over the place with pain and restless nights and fatigue and pain and the heaviness of there not being an answer and the demands of my body and the demands of life never quite aligning…I’m just trying to keep up.

All that ‘just keeping up’ has shut down my own rhythms - for self care, for reflecting, for creating. And this is where it becomes a bit of a self-perpetuating cycle, isn’t it. When lacking in energy or just overwhelmed we retreat, shut down and don’t make space for the things that nurture our bodies, minds and souls. Then, because we haven’t given our bodies, minds and souls the nurture they need, we feel even more exhausted and overwhelmed. And so on and so forth.

So we have to find ways to break the cycle and get back to our own rhythms - that steady internal beat that keeps us going through thick and thin.

There are a few ways I’m trying to do this right now:

• I have started going swimming with a friend once a week. It’s a way to move my body and get some much needed exercise that doesn’t make my pain flare up as much as other activities do. The fact that I get to see my friend and that we can catch up whilst doing lengths is the motivation I need to get up and go on days when, if I was going alone, I’d probably end up staying home.

• I have ended the fortnightly counselling sessions that just weren’t quite working for me and have reinvested the money I would have spent on this on a self-care support programme that I believe will serve me better, and some additional paid subscriptions here on Substack to those creators whose work has been gently holding space for me when I needed it.

• I am consciously trying to let go of ‘should’s, step away from guilt and allow myself time to focus on re-finding my rhythm.

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In amongst all this personal rhythm finding, I’m reminded of how much I love rhythm as a tool in writing - particularly in poetry. I often find that it is the rhythm of a poem that really captures me; the ebb and flow of words subtly shaped with punctuation or line breaks carries its own kind of power, tied to but distinct from that of the words themselves. Rhythm is what makes poetry feel like spell work. Like magic pinned to a page or spoken aloud.

In the process of trying to find my way back to some kind of steady beat with my writing, I’ve been revisiting things I have written previously that have sat in typed files or neglected notebooks. It’s a process I’ve enjoyed because it has reminded me of my own voice and that this is not the first fallow period in my writing life (nor will it be the last). And in fact, sometimes, those lost in the in-between times have nourished something new in me and my writing. So I’m letting myself get a little bit lost. Leaning into the margins and the shadows. Waiting poised at the edges, patient with pen in hand, for my rhythm to reassert itself once more.

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Here’s a piece I wrote on a previous occasion when I had lost my beat and was searching for a way back:

Dust motes float in the sunlight pouring through the leaded windows,
and the clink of cup on saucer and the gentle murmur of hushed conversation
layer a soft soundtrack over my thoughts.
Words don’t always come easy
and when they do
some are strange and some just don’t
say what they mean
when they leave my fingers to
land on the page,
like a painting fully formed in the mind
that comes out
blotchy
and
malformed
on paper.

A familiar landscape rendered
unrecognisable.

So I set off exploring again
to relearn this unfamiliar, familiar land,
eyes wide open and pencil in hand.
I’ll sit still and silent
as the dust motes
drift
whilst the world turns and that soft soundtrack plays,

I’ll wait whilst the words wash through me in a jumble
watch them
settle
into half-formed thoughts
until I can catch them with the clink of cup on saucer

and write with sweet foam lingering on my lips.

Thank you for reading, friends. I hope life has you held in a steady rhythm right now.

Go gently.

Jen x