As happens once or twice a year, I was recently smashed by my boulder. The boulder being my work, my health, my family and my life in general. It started as it usually does, with a manic phase. January was a slow month client wise for me so I spent a lot of time sending out new course proposals, submitting articles to journals, and pitching myself as a speaker. After years of running my own business, I know this nonpaid, somewhat humiliating work is part of the deal. If I don’t do it, I don’t get clients and I don’t teach, which will certainly lead to my children and me starving to death. I can market myself and submit my work relatively easy when I receive some validation and response from the people and places I query. This didn’t happen much in January.
By mid-February I had a few successes, but I also spent a lot of time checking emails. And just like a watched pot never boils, an overly watched inbox never produces the news you want. It took a week or so of obsessing and frustration before I remembered the golden rule, “When acting maniacal, stop. You may think spinning your wheels faster and obsessing more will produce the outcome you desire, but in actuality, it only leads to one thing-insanity.”
I stopped sending out proposals and instead focused on writing my divorce guidebook. This helped—sort of. What helped even more was admitting to myself that my life sucked. “What’s so hard about that?” you may ask. And for most people, maybe that isn’t a huge challenge. But for me—the author of a book about how I created my life to be what I wanted it to be, not what was expected of me—admitting that my so-called perfectly created life sucked, was a tough pill to swallow. The main basis of my coaching business is to encourage other writers to pursue their writing dreams. On these grey, sullen days, it was all I could do not to blurt out, “Keep your day job sweetheart, you’ll never be published. It’s all a ruse!”
I spent several days muttering, “Another day in Suck City” (if you haven’t read Nick Flynn’s book that I’m stealing from here, do so) to myself and waited for it to pass. It didn’t, so I shared my confession with my boyfriend. “I feel as if I’m constantly pushing a boulder up a hill so I started to ask myself, ‘What if I let go? Would it really matter?’ And the answer is no. I’d close my business, stop writing, become a bank teller and no one would care. None of it matters.” One of the reasons he has remained my boyfriend for over a year is because he didn’t tell me I had a great life, one that most people would kill for, as ex-boyfriends have. Nor did he tell me to quit whining, as people who are no longer in my life would. Instead, he said, “That must be really hard to continually be your own cheerleader and constantly have to put yourself out there never knowing if it’s going to result in anything.” I cried, he held me, I complained some more, and the rest of the evening is R rated.
Once again, things improved. Sort of. But then I heard discouraging news about my mother’s health, I got sick myself, and my lovely boyfriend disappeared into the lion’s cage (otherwise known as Microsoft). I was back in Suck City and this time, I didn’t know how to get out. Depression turned to grief, which believe it or not, is a positive thing for me. Sure, grief cycles are more extreme, but they lead to insights and catharsis. Depression just sucks, with little to no “ahas.” Suck City turned into a tsunami trying to drown me with all of my core issues-abandonment, need for validation, and self-reliance. Rather than ask for help, or at least a hug, my self- reliance caused me to put my kids on a raft and float out to sea where no one could touch us. I'm quite familiar with this raft. It's a "no adults, kids only" zone because other adults, especially those close to me, are perceived as sinking hazards. Kids never sink the raft, so they're allowed. Needless to say, this does not do wonders for my relationships and I don’t recommend it as a coping mechanism.
With a few trials and errors, this weekend I was finally able to sail our little raft to shore and somehow landed on terra firma. And today when I opened my email, there were two requests for interviews and a publishing success. The good news is I’m no longer in Suck City. The bad news is, I know better than to think this will be my last battle with the boulder.

Corbin Lewars is the author of Creating a Life: The memoir of a writer and mom in the making, which was nominated for the 2011 PNBA and Washington State book awards and is now available via ebook. Her essays have been featured in over twenty-five publications including Mothering and Hip Mama. She teaches writing and coaches other writers on-line, via the phone and in person in Ballard.