Losing Your Writing Voice and Finding it Again

In just one moment, things can change so quickly. It sounds trite, perhaps, or maybe even like a Hallmark movie, “appreciate what you have because at any moment, it could vanish.” We take so many things for granted on a daily basis including our health, our family, our friends, and even our ability to work. It isn’t until injury, illness, or tragedy strikes that we relish what we previously had and wish that we could reverse time. For writers, experiences of sudden trauma can cause the writing well to dry up without notice. That’s why I’m sharing about losing your writing voice and finding it again–I know I’m not alone.

On a crisp Northern California February afternoon , I was driving with my youngest daughter to get our holds from the library, then to take her to youth group across town. Our trajectory was forever changed when a young man ran a red left-turn light on my solid green light, plowing into the left front of my shiny new Toyota RAV4 Hybrid, which was a reward to myself after selling my 14-year old business, ChurchTechToday.com.

In Just a Moment, Things Changed

I had about three seconds from the time I saw the person turning into my lane and crashing into us, just long enough to move my left hand towards the horn to honk, instead taking the full force of the airbag and subsequently being stamped with the Toyota logo on my wrist. Not long enough to do anything useful. The sound of metal crunching and the smell of the air bags deploying isn’t something you easily forget.

In just a moment. We could have been hurt much worse. It just takes one moment, one accident to change the trajectory of a life forever. All eight air bags deployed.

The Toyota Safety Connect operator spoke to us from the car’s speaker system to see if we needed ambulance or fire. Witnesses were at my driver side door within a minute telling me what to do.

“Hit the unlock button on your door, unbuckle your seatbelt. Are you okay?” I implored the woman to please call my husband.

We go through this intersection multiple times a day. Why was today different?

In the flash just after we were hit and the airbags deployed, I declared the name of Jesus over my daughter and I, “Jesus, you are here with us right now. We love you and know that you are here.”

We looked at each other to check in, nothing broken, no one bleeding. Grab your bag, get the library bag, too (we had books to return and didn’t want to leave them in the wrecked car to be towed away).

We cried hot tears for a brief moment and got out of my darling new car for the last time.

My husband appeared at the scene moments later. We gave our statements to the police officer and headed to the emergency room for a full workup.

At the emergency room, still in shock, we were relieved that neither of us had broken bones, only soft tissue damage.

Later on, my head and neck became frozen–full on whiplash; my daughter had a bulging disc in her back, but was is better shape than me.

Setbacks and Recovery Amidst Losing My Writing Voice

Over the next few days and weeks, I recovered on the couch with ice, a TENS Unit, and extra strength Tylenol, my new best friends.

Our excellent chiropractor took wonderful care of us, yet my whiplash recovery took nearly five months and I still get treatment now. But, the resulting concussion has caused even more annoying problems such as headaches, noise sensitivity, memory loss, fatigue, and concentration issues which continue to persist (but lessen slightly) with each passing week.

Vestibular and cognitive therapy ensued. I had already been recovering for an injection in my hip I’d had a few weeks earlier, so strangely, being camped out on the couch was already familiar.

It felt like a one-two punch.

For a writer, losing one’s ability to work on a screen (very bad for an active concussion) meant that I had to step back from everything, plus I needed to continue publishing content weekly to maintain my new community for highly sensitive people that was just starting to take off.

Just prior to the car accident, I had taken on two new book coaching clients, who graciously delayed our work while I recovered.

Freelance and coaching work took the front seat and I found I had no bandwidth for writing on my author platform, or planning new book projects. Plus there was the issue of the contract I signed when we onboarded a personal injury lawyer to take our case–no posting on social media or online anywhere. In essence, this silenced me.

How does a writer NOT write about something so influential? How does a writer get silenced by traumatic life events?

Here I was, moving forward but feeling voiceless. Where had I gone?

My Write Voice, Stolen

This is something I’ve mulled over and don’t yet have an answer for. It could be because, paying the bills is frequently higher up the priority list. It could be because I subjugate myself, put myself last, in order to take care of the essential (this doesn’t sound wise as I’m writing it).

All self-care engines went full steam into managing my physical and mental pain and anguish. It was hard. I felt muted by headaches, quieted by the need to rest, and depressed by my inability to “do it all.”

Let’s get something straight: when gigantic life events come crashing down on a writer, the only way most of us know how to process is to write about the event.

I stared writing just for myself.

Soil for Personal Growth as a Writer

Writing is my way of unpacking, untethering, and clarifying my feelings and this journey together we are all on. On this car accident journey with me were my family, my medical team, my therapist, my friends, and myself.

It has been a long-haul, and yet I’m learning that the arduous times cause intense introspection. This time period of my life reeks of humus. Humus, as you might know, is the dark, damp soil necessary for things to grow. Without the breakdown of leaves, sticks, and other materials, the soil doesn’t become nutrient rich enough to sustain life again.

It’s this breakdown period that propels me through dormancy into growth. I readily become available for planting and eventually reaping another harvest.

Oh how I’d change things if I could! The process of becoming small, humble, and even dependent is radical in a nonchalant way; certainly you don’t brag, absolutely you do things like cheer yourself on for wiping the counters, or making coffee.

Simple becomes the goal, leaving complex for another day, month, or year.

Letting all the things go that can be let go, and trusting that you might be able to pick them up again in the near future is the goal.

New Challenges for This Writer

I’ve never been someone to attract drama or a maelstrom of daily crises. I’m a careful planner who works hard to avoid trouble, difficulty, and unknown challenges. As a highly sensitive person, I pause and check before taking risks, making new plans, or starting new projects.

As I closed in on the one year anniversary of my car accident, I received a surprising diagnosis of early-stage breast cancer. I was alerted last May that there were some microcalcifications in my left breast on mammography, and that I’d need a six-month follow up appointment.

But over Christmas, in the shower one day, I felt a lump. I checked it again the next day, and the day after that. I decided that if the lump was still there after our Christmas trip to Disneyland a week later, I would call my doctor. Just a few weeks later, after another mammogram, ultrasound, and needle biopsy, the doctor called to say that I had Ductal Carcinoma in Situ (DCIS),  stage 0. I was thankful I caught it early, but still rattled to the core. After all, when someone says, “you have cancer,” it feels like a death sentence.

One month from diagnosis, I had a mastectomy due to the widespread area of DCIS throughout my breast. Instead of waiting to do reconstruction at the same time, I opted to remove the cancerous tissue first and see what pathology had to say.

A week after surgery, my surgeon shared the good news that my lymph nodes were clear. However, one area had positive margins and would need additional resection, along with the rest of the prophylactic mastectomy of my right breast, and the first stage of reconstruction for new breasts.

Through this intense season of embracing and accepting a cancer diagnosis, something happened. I began writing for myself again. It turns out that losing your writing voice is akin to laryngitis. There’s eventual healing and recovery of strength and ability.

If you can’t write in the face of a life-threatening diagnosis, then when? Going through this particular challenge has lit a fire in me to do, and share, and be the person God has called me to be.

I cling to truths in the bible through reading and worship daily. I sit and my piano and play and sing what is on my heart, which is often a hymn or spiritual song I’ve written.

My diagnosis and surgery lined up with the season of lent this year, and I clung to Christ’s suffering on the cross. I asked him to be with me, to share his suffering and carry me through my pain. He met me in this valley of the shadow of death, and I will always treasure the closeness I felt during these tough weeks, and still feel now as I approach my next surgery.

Humility Not for the Weak

Often in our American culture, we view a humble person as someone who has been humiliated, or is weak.

But I have chose to embrace weakness, vulnerability, and to lean into this period of intensity in ways I could have never imagined.

But he [the Lord] told me: “My kindness is all you need. My power is strongest when you are weak.” So I will brag even more about my weaknesses in order that Christ’s power will live in me. Therefore, I accept weakness, mistreatment, hardship, persecution, and difficulties suffered for Christ. It’s clear that when I’m weak, I’m strong.

2 Corinthians 12:9-11 God’s Word Translation

This humiliating humility is for the birds, and I don’t wish it on anyone. I mean, who sets their timer for 15 minute increments of computer work? Who spends most of the day in bed? It’s a recipe for the slowest kind of productivity. And yet this is the road I have walked and continue to walk.

I have to trust that God knows what he’s doing with me. I rely on the fact that “nothing is wasted in God’s economy,” and I am here to serve and love others well.

Whether I’m writing from my home in bed office (HIBO – a new acronym I have crafted), I’m muddling through to hear and express my writing voice again despite the arduous journey it has felt like. Where did I go? Where have I been? What is God doing this time around?

I’m sure the seeds are planted in the soil.

I’m just waiting for the blooms to appear.