Woods and trees

A metaphor for panic, perfectionism and an alternative way through.

I’ve long identified as a worrier. A flapper. A snapper. A lean-on-the-side-of-anxious individual.

That’s not to say I’m not determined. In fact, I’d describe myself as pretty brave, competitive - strong headed, even. Friends will tell you that I’m the first to raise my hand for a task that will be piled onto an already overflowing to-do list. And I’ll almost certainly meet the deadline, too.

What you won’t see, however, is the headless-chicken-esque panic that will ensue en route to meeting said-deadline. It’s why I never got on well in an office setting. I felt that my colleagues were privy to the psychological chaos that preceded the finished product people would later praise and admire. Like a magician who reveals his secrets: the exposure to my creative process undid me in a way that was vulnerable and exposing.

Until recently, I thought this hectic method of working was the way I was born to move through life. A by-product of a creative mind. I’ll admit, I even romanticised it somewhat. The tortured writer plagued by creative block (and often, near-madness).

Then, towards the end of last year, I went to therapy.

This is the moment where some readers will lean in, and others will click off. I know this because the verdict on therapy is starkly divided into three camps: those who go, those who want to go, and those who eye-roll at the idea of it. For those in the latter party, I urge you to stay just a minute. I promise I’m not over-therapised. I try to limit my use of jargon, and I don’t go in for self-serving conversations. The first thing I said when I sat in the chair was that I wanted the hard truths. I wanted a mirror up to my own b*llshit as much as I wanted a way out to the other side.

So, that’s our jumping off point here.

But back to woods and trees, a metaphor I’m yet to address. Essentially, my old modus operandi for any personal pressure or work deadlines was to run through a dark woods with absolutely no sense of direction (fitting as my real-world internal compass is borderline appalling). I’d eventually emerge, sweating, panting and covered in bramble scratches from all the frantic wrong turns I’d made on the way. I’d be firmly locked into fight or flight, my eyes on stalks from the ordeal I’d just been through to make it to the lush pasture on the other side. I’d lie down in the green meadow of my mind for two full days in order to recover from the emotional exhaustion of it all - only to do it all again when the next deadline rolled in.

All this is to say that every piece of work I’m most proud of has been a highly unpleasant experience to create. A product of an addiction to pressure, combined with a simultaneous terror around it.

What I’ve noticed in the past month is a certain shift in the cadence of my creative process. Now, when I enter the woods, which are still gloomy and wrought with winding paths, I don’t immediately start to run. I still feel lost; yet to carve out the first turn I want to take. But instead I start to walk slowly, assessing my options and working out a system to methodically cross off the various routes. Therapy hasn’t given me that route, nor even really the map. What it’s given me is the emotional distance to orient myself, and decipher the options in front of me.

To put it bluntly, I now not only see the individual trees, but I see their bark, their branches, the gnarly burrs I recognise from previous wrong turns, and can use them to fashion new routes. Sometimes I still come across stiles, rivers and impassable hedges, but instead of being dragged through them backwards, I make the call to turn down a new path.

If you’ve followed me this far, and see the image I’m trying to conjure, you likely have a mind like mine. I’m not suggesting you immediately sign up for therapy - it might not be right for you - but what I am saying is that you don’t have to live through relentless cycles of heart-racing torture to be successful, personally or professionally. There is another way, and you have the compass to explore it.

Thank you for being here & indulging my inner monologue! To connect with me more, I’d love you to subscribe below <3