Writing in These Times
Writing a dissertation is hard under any circumstances. I know. I wrote one under not the best of circumstances. I also, for a living, coach dissertation writers through all phases of their writing, so I am privy to all sorts of inside information about the less-than-ideal circumstances under which you all undertake your dissertation writing.
Now, if you are one of those writers for whom the process has been easy, and you haven’t missed a beat in the midst of all the changes we’ve been collectively navigating since mid-March, I salute you, and I hand you my laptop because perhaps you should be writing this post.
For the rest of us mere mortals who have missed several beats (days, weeks, maybe even a month) to the turbulence known as “Massive Shit Show 2020,” this one is for you. I am not coming to you so much as a dissertation coach, sage guide through the storm, purveyor of “10 Steps to get your Dissertation Back on Track” (with worksheet). I am writing to you this morning from the stance of a fellow human, a journeyer who, like you, has experienced all manner of tumult, emotional upheaval, and swiveling through the air whilst not quite yet landing on my feet like a nimble feline accustomed to such feats. My hope is that if perhaps like me, you have run the gamut of coping mechanisms (not all of them healthy) in order to navigate life in the pandemic, you will find some encouragement for your dissertation journey.
I am writing this post from the relative comfort of my back deck in New Orleans, morning coffee to my right, wearing my pandemic uniform of newly minted cutoffs. I promise to burn them and get back to something resembling professional garb soon, but today is not that day. My Wifi doesn’t reach back here, but I’m pretty darn grateful for this cheap hot spot and morning shade. And why am I writing from here? I’ll tell you. (Truth be told it isn’t always all that comfy). I write from here because it takes the children longer to find me. They will find me soon, I’m sure, and that’s fine, but it will slow down the process. So much for that “set boundaries around your writing space/time” bullet point I planned to include in this post.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that we don’t need to carve out literal and metaphorical spaces for ourselves to work and write, but as a mother with kids who are doing their best to navigate their own losses (smaller than so many, but very real to them), the membrane between work and home has necessarily become permeable.
Since mid-March, three of my four kids have been sheltering in place with me in New Orleans. We live in a shotgun with one bathroom and my two eldest who had previously left the nest have returned. Let me tell you, they just love living back at home with dear old mom. They especially, especially loved it when, during their first couple of weeks back in New Orleans, when our governor was predicting that we would run out of ventilators by the first week of April, their mother turned full-on handwashing nitpicker and member of the face-touching gestapo. My eldest said it best. “I feel like a high school housewife.” In the midst of those first weeks of adjustment, my work suffered. Here’s why.
In those moments, when the numbers of deaths in my beloved city were rising, when I read words like “epicenter” and saw them applied to my hometown, the last thing I was thinking about was how to be productive at work. When we lost beloved musicians, (Ellis Marsalis is just one), a high school coach, a seventeen-year-old, I didn’t just lose hours, I lost days. And when my best friend who lives two blocks away from me texted me that she was sitting in her house unable to draw a complete breath and that her son and husband had it too, productivity and compartmentalization were not options.
While others, most notably a dear friend who is a prominent local jazz musician were touting the benefits of their isolation, I was struggling to find the footing. Had I been trying to write a dissertation during this time, I don’t think I would have faltered; I would have likely failed. That’s just the truth. (Don’t you feel better about yourself already?)
Now, what does all of this have to do with you? You didn’t sign up to read about how one dissertation coach lost her shit for a bit and had a hard time. Aren’t we all having a hard time? And aren’t those of us even able to read this post very lucky to simply be here — roofs over our heads, family, hopefully, mostly okay? Of course, but I share all of the above because, in many of your coaching sessions, I hear those little hints of self-deprecation coming through your comments. Truthfully, you were already extraordinarily good at self-deprecating before the pandemic. Even though you were running schools, tending to ailing family members, working in high-level positions in healthcare, managing non-profits and such while attending graduate school, some of you somehow managed to find time to be very hard on yourselves and your writing. And now that you have been bitch-slapped by as we say in the South “This thing,” some of you have doubled-down on your old ways of pulling forth your best work.
Here’s what I want to say to you.
Stop it.
While many of your skills may come in handy (yes, adulting is still a thing), some of the old ways will not serve you.
Did you use to be the writer who woke up at 5:30 a.m. and had accomplished more in two hours than most of us did in a day? Are you wondering where that laser-focused multi-tasker went? I strongly encourage you to stop looking for them and start with the person you are today.
For me, this means that I accept that my workday does not start at 8:00 a.m. anymore. It starts at 10:00. Yes, I make an appointment with my work, but you know what else I do? I make an appointment with my sorrow or whatever needs to show up while I am having my coffee. Sometimes that something is a good cry. Sometimes it is making a list. Sometimes it is a bit more Googling than has previously been healthy. The point is, the writing/work we have all been doing prior to the fresh hell that has been with many of us has never been happening in a vacuum, and even though many of us are doing it from home now, we are anything but isolated from the events that are unfolding around us.
Therefore, like any hard blow that life sends our way, we need time to adjust before we can move forward. Part of that adjustment is letting go of the old ways, the old expectations, the old lists. If you are still operating off of a list that you generated in February for your dissertation, would you at least consider putting that particular list deep in the bowels of some junk drawer (oh wait, I forgot, you don’t have junk drawers)? Okay, put it somewhere in a neatly marked file called, “Old Schedule,” get out a fresh piece of paper and write that list an obituary.
Go ahead.
Honor it; then kiss it goodbye with much love and admiration for the dissertation you were going to write. I’ll help you start: “Here lies my old dissertation plan. It was a mighty good plan back in the days when I could drop the kids off school, pound a latte or three and hideout for an afternoon in my office.”
Don’t have kids? Maybe your goodbye looks something more like this. “Here lies my old dissertation plan. It worked when I was able to meet up with my friends in the evenings or work in my office surrounded by my colleagues. It served me well, but I have to let it go now.”
Next, get out a new piece of paper and simply call it, “Now.” As you set goals for your writing, please recognize that they may necessarily look different. And you know what? That’s okay. You are different. You are changing. How could you not be?
On this list called “Now,” I want you to start not with what your writing needs. We’ll get to that. I want you to start with what you need to feel safe in your home and your body. You cannot grit your way through this one unless you have a basic sense of safety. So, maybe the first thing on your list is “Find a therapist.” That’s okay because the best dissertation you write is going to come from the best you that you can be in these moments, in these times, as you are.
I promise you that you can and will complete your research. I promise you that all of our coaches still have tools-a-plenty to help you write the dissertation that will lead to the Dr. in front of your name and all the ensuring joy that will follow.
A note on that though. That doctorate is for you, and we all want you to get it. That’s what we are here for — to help you write your very best and become Dr. _____. However, let’s get real for a minute. I’m quite certain in these times that me being a doctor matters not one whit to my kids. My 18 year old wants to know if the pizza rolls will be stocked. My 20-year-old wonders if her car is going to get fixed so she can go back to North Carolina and work at the pizza place. She also worries about the clientele that she serves (mostly elderly in a vacation town). My 12-year-old has never ever once during this pandemic looked at me and said, “Gee, mom, I’m just so glad you got that Ph.D. a couple of years ago.” She just wants to know when work will be over so we can hang out and if I am going to let her attend next week’s socially-distant pool party with her tween friends.
Let’s get even a little more real. Last night, my son came into my bedroom and asked me what was going on with rioting in response to George Floyd’s death. In that moment, do you think I cared about my productivity? Not even a little bit. I’m not even saying the conversation was particularly long or enlightening, but it took precedence over everything else.
Yes, we all want to help you move forward with your writing, and yes, we believe your work still matters, but you know what? Sometimes you need to put down your problem statements, your highlighters, your calendars chock full of goals, and just be with it all for a moment.
And you know what else? It’s okay if some of these feelings make it into your coaching sessions. No, we are not counselors, but as coaches, we are listeners, and we all know that as the writer, you are the vessel through which this research is happening. So, if you need a minute to talk, go for it. We care about you and we want to help you get through some of the “non-writing” issues in order to get to the writing. Perhaps a little talking is part of pre-writing after all.
Remember that piece of paper called “Now?” After you have thought a bit about tending to that vessel who is doing the writing, perhaps you can help that vessel tend to the writing itself. Here’s my best thought on this process. Set aside some time each day for your writing. In that time, write one, bite-sized, specific goal. We’ve got two times each week carved out for you, and they are completely free, open, and guided by either Dr. Veronica Richards or yours truly.
During our last Thursday writing collaborative, the writers did this very thing so wonderfully.
One writer planned to read a single article and annotate it for specific information about a single strand of her literature review. Another tackled feedback from a reviewer. The third chose to draft a section of her theoretical framework. Not a single one of these writers had as a goal “Work on my Chapter 2.” Maybe that would have worked for them before, but not anymore. I think the showing up for writing time together also helped them. They put this time on their calendars and logged into yet another Zoom meeting.
One writer’s kids popped in and out of the frame. Newsflash: my eldest daughter was sitting on the floor painting for her hopefully upcoming art show. My youngest came through to start a load of laundry. Previously, I would have found these things strange, but not anymore.
The point is, these writers found a way to put one foot in front of the other. Perfection was not the goal. Showing up was. And in that little bit of showing up with each other, I think we all found some hope and a sense of new normal. The normal will change again. 2020 isn’t finished with us. We will all have to refresh our lists called “New” constantly as challenges and changes arise. What I want to say as I close this overly-long and vulnerable post is that wherever you have been with your dissertation, whatever struggles you have faced, whatever wins you have had, no matter how small they seem in your eyes, honor them. You are here. You are growing. You are learning, and we are still here — still cheering you on every step, shuffle, crawl, and leap of the way.