Loss, Labour (Quitting Writing) & Luxuriation

LOSS

On Friday, July 11, 2025, our beloved Oscar crossed the rainbow bridge. That morning when we awoke, he was in the hallway, puddles of urine and vomit around him. We cleaned him up, took him outside where he was able to go to the bathroom…but then he fell to the deck and couldn’t move. We had to carry him inside. He knew it was his time.

We cancelled our plans, and remained with him, constantly touching him and loving him until 5pm when a vet came to our house was able to offer end-of-life services. We wept and wept. At one point, Oscar lifted his head and looked at me, his wisdom gleaming in his eyes…and he told me, it was okay, he was loved, and he’d always be with us. And it’s true.

His gone-ness continues to be everywhere. Our home is different now…feeling the spaces Oscar’s energy and body had taken for over ten years…wondering where he is…hoping for his return. His food bowls are still out, as is a small altar with his paw print and ashes. Every day, I look at photos of him, caress them and tell him I love him.

Oscar was the first dog I had from puppy to papa (that’s what we called him). He chose us when we went to see his litter…reaching out with his paw toward the kids. He was born wise, a King stuck in the body of a Golden Retriever. He loved to be adored, constantly pushing his paw in our faces for attention. And though he loved to be kissed, his giving of kisses was a carefully considered occurrence.

Pages, our other Golden, is doing well. We’ve been taking her with us wherever we go that dogs can go too. We even took her to the drive-in! And, she’s been swimming her little mer-dog heart out in the pool. Yes, there are rumblings of desire for a puppy…but for now, we’re loving the heck out of Pages, and missing Oscar as our hearts heal.

LABOUR

Summer makes my relationship with work go awry. Because my working life is pretty adjustable, I find that as the air heats up and as the kids galavant in a schedule-less bliss, I too want to galavant and deviate…and embrace the heat like it’s an old friend.

So that’s what I’ve been doing…reading, writing, walking, watching movies, visiting with friends, hanging with the kids and nick…days go by and many of them I don’t know what actual day it is as it passes! I enjoy a tender sleep-in, letting my body ‘awake’ when it wants to. Indeed, I’m grateful for this adaptable lifestyle!

Inside this bliss, however, the guilt and Animus push in. I had many days where tears lead the way, leading into long conversations about value and validation, about dreaming new dreams and editing others. I even applied for some part-time work ‘outside’ of anything creative/writing-centric…to satiate a curious narrative that tells the story of me writing more if I had a job that had nothing to do with writing. Alas, there were no calls, no interviews…and as I waited and worried, wrote and wrestled with wants, I decided that I’d stick with what I’ve been loving as work – teaching, editing, writing – but create and uphold a shift in my narrative about it. And also – work with others to support this shift!

I had several writing blitzes wherein I made major breakthroughs on my novel. This was pretty darn exhilarating! I did a three-day writing retreat with Charis Cotter, my writing partner who lives in Newfoundland (we Facetime!), and then we had several days where we kept working, and it was intensive and brain-melting.

I had a breakdown after 26 chapters of edits, and I quit writing. For about 18 hours.

Yes, I printed out the first 26 chapters of my novel draft, read each one and made notes in a document for all the things that still needed attention, then I started on the final chapters…which need the most editing of all of them thus far…and I started worrying and thinking about what to do with it, who to send it to, would it get published…and I crashed from overwhelm…also, I got a rejection for a submission I was super hopeful about…and a couple emails that tossed me right over the precarious edge I was attempting to balance on.

So yeah, I quit writing. I decided, out loud and with conviction, that this whole ‘career’ in writing just wasn’t for me anymore. Nope. No way. No need. I could still be creative. Start sewing again. Work on collages. Focus on my health and fitness. Get a part-time job at a restaurant doing dishes.

WHAT RELIEF I FELT, my friends. What beautiful, pure, the-weight-of-a-thousand-books-lifted-off-my-chest kinda relief…I closed up my laptop. I piled my novel pages and put them on a shelf. I went to the sofa, cried, and ate popcorn and an Oh Henry whilst watching Dirty Dancing. I put myself in the corner and was happy as hell to be there. No dancing, dirty or otherwise.

I let my body and my brain feel what it felt like to not identify as a writer. To not constantly be organizing ideas, managing time for projects, worrying about publication, and bracing for rejection. To let a line of poetry, a phrase for a short story, the dialogues between characters…swoosh on out of my head like tufts of smoke.

I felt giddy. I felt youthful. I felt panicked. I felt alone. I felt alive in a way I hadn’t felt, perhaps ever…because for as long as I can remember feeling anything about ‘who I am’…being a reader, being a writer has always been a driving force in my identity. All the other things I’ve done in my life, all the accomplishments and all the other dreams lived or buried…none of it held the space, the energy, the drive, the purpose, the MUST-NESS like reading and writing.

And then this profound disconnect happened.

My entire body felt different. It was like I was miraculously able to lift my ‘writer’ self out of my body, lay her down gently on the bed, and let her…be. Separate from me…and all my other parts. I felt a calmness…a freedom in my veins…a zimmering, if you will, in my body free of the ‘life’ of the writer who took up so much damn space in my existence.

And in this separation, I let myself feel the expansions in the spaces my ‘writer’ part took up…it was like I had…bubbles inside me…and my stomach expanded (who knew she could expand even more!)…and my guts breathed a huge sigh of relief…and my spine fluffed and elongated…and my entire nervous system, looked around, felt the space, and did a jig. A jig, I tell you!

I announced with my voice: I QUIT WRITING! And the walls heard me, and the dog. My family smiled as they do when I make grand announcements. And I smiled too – absolutely there was more space in my smile…stretching around the back of my head…have you ever smiled this kind of smile? It literally hurts. But in the best way.

Yes, for one afternoon, and an entire evening and a fabulous night’s sleep…I was no longer a writer, but a me…just a me free of this major identity.

I awoke the next morning, and I didn’t think about anything. My mind was quiet…all the characters, the words, sentences, dialogues…all the ‘work’ that is the voice of the writer, all the energy, all that movement in my body – gone liminal. It was nearly terrifying. And then I remembered what I’d done the day before.

And there beside me, on her side, leaning her ear in the palm of her hand, the writer was…waiting. She winked. I laughed. I told her, ‘sweet woman, let me have my coffee first…’ And she did. And she stayed close as I started my morning, slowly, quietly. I ate toast with peanut butter and butter (yes, of course and butter), and realized that I can be ‘me’ without being a ‘writer’.

It felt really odd starting my day without the writer agenda-driving my thoughts/actions. It felt…a bit scary too because what would I do all day if writing wasn’t somehow involved? I let myself remember that writing can be a joyful experience. It can exist without a list of to-dos, without the stress of ‘musts’, without the pressure of ‘what ifs’, without the suffering of rejections…and it can be ‘just writing’ to write. To release the voices, to play, to imagine, to create…

Why can’t I treat the writer in me like I treat the crafter or the reader or the walker? HOLD IT – I CAN!

I asked the writer if it would be okay if we were friends, not co-workers. I asked the writer if I could let her have her own body sometimes if she got too heavy in mine. I asked the writer if she knew I still loved her so very much even if I shifted her power in my mind.

She put her hand on her boney hip (She’s a lanky lady who loves to smoke and drink coffee. Luckily, when a ‘part’ smokes, there’s no danger involved.), and smirked. “Of course, silly,” she said. “Of course. But…let’s write soon, okay?”

And I smiled back, and nodded. “Soon.” And I finished my breakfast, and I got dressed, and I felt the freedom of choosing to write whenever, wherever, and why-ever I wanted…’I’ as in ‘all my parts’…without the chesty-guilt of hurting the writer’s feelings. The writer just wants to write – no feelings are hurt when not writing. I got that. I got it! Finally.

And ever since that day…a few weeks ago, my relationship with writing has shifted into this new…freer…smoother…in fact, MORE present experience. And this ability to release a part from the rest of me has been very rewarding. I’ve given release to the ‘must-make-money’ part, and the ‘how-you-should-make-money-part’ (they’re a feisty pair)…and this ability is me learning how to ‘pause’, separate and contemplate – and then act.

I feel different. And I’m grateful for this change! I feel so much more space in my body now that the writer is her own distinct part, not a complete layer always covering me.

LUXURIATION

New word alert? This internal body shift, this rearrangement of relationship with the writer meant that whatever I do now, I do with new vigourous luxuriation! I feel like there is more time in each day and that’s an incredible feeling to have.

I spent hours in the pool and/or some body of water. The outstanding heat was, for me, the best! And learning how to not lose time ‘worrying’, but instead, ‘doing’ and also ‘being’ in the ‘doing’ was…is…live changing. Yeah, that’s not a typo: LIVE changing. 🙂

I read more books this summer than I have in years!

Even since taking this photo, I read another book! That pile has 8 books in it, but on Monday, I finished reading this:

I read this book in only three sittings because Nina George is one of my favourite authors. And, despite it deviating in subject matter (sort of!) than her other books…the writing was stunning and I felt like I was in Breton, France with her characters, and I adore a book that transports me….even if spending time with the characters provokes me in frustrating ways. Also, it made me want to swim and smoke and eat cheese and fish….of which I’ve done three of the four…

My fall reading pile (which will grow, no doubt!) is this:

I’ve already started reading ‘Our Lady of the Lost and Found‘…and I’m nearly done ‘The Japanese Lover’…it’s the kinda book that takes a lot of energy to read. And, Ainslie Hogarth’s ‘The Boy Meets Girl Massacre’ is en route (so is an interview with Ainslie..coming later this week!). Also, I’ve pre-ordered Patti Smith’s newest masterpiece, ‘Bread of Angels‘ – forthcoming November 2025.

Reading makes me very, very happy.

I’ve been taking looooong walks too. Like, at least 45 minutes in length, five-to-six kilometres a pop. Again, who knew I had this MUCH TIME to spend on walking? But I do! And, I’ve been reading and writing and dreaming and sleeping and swimming. It’s bonkers, but I love it.

Yes, my children are older now, and that’s a fact that absolutely affects how I spend my time. But, I tell you, they’ve been pretty self-sufficient for years, and it’s only been this summer that I’ve figured out ‘how’ to use my time, my opening time, in a way that is both functional and fun.

This fall is going to be a jolly good time too. I can feel it. I’m taking two writing classes. I’m team-teaching a six-week feedback forum. And after that…a workshop and perhaps a retreat (in the works!). I’ve got my poetry books out on submission, and a load of poems and fiction out on submission. And my novel is getting closer and closer to being submittable. In fact, as soon as I’m done this, I’m gonna jump back in! (This is my third sitting for this post!)

Earlier this week, a writer I’m working with shared an amazing article with me (thanks, Natasha!)…I pulled a quote that continues to resonate with me…

Thriving is not ignorance. It’s resistance. Thriving doesn’t mean you turn your back on the truth. It means you refuse to let the truth break you. You don’t have to pretend bad things aren’t happening. But there’s a difference between staying informed and being consumed. One keeps you engaged, the other swallows you whole.

Eva Schmidt, from ‘Permission to Thrive in a Broken World: How to Live Fully in the Chaos

Here’s to thriving, y’all. To being and doing our best, to the best of our body, mind and heart’s abilities.

Thanks for reading this far! More soon…

Be kind. Spread love.