I’ll tell you — it’s impossible.
I am trying, but it’s been eight months and I still haven’t found a balance.
The worst is when you’re with your kids, but you want to be writing. It ruins everything. You can’t enjoy them, you can’t be in the moment, you can’t seize that moment of joy because you’re wishing you were somewhere else, doing something else.
So you fight and bicker with your husband or pay a babysitter or get up in the middle of the night and finally, somehow, manage to get an hour to yourself. You finally have a moment to write — and nothing comes. Or you write something awful. Or you take a so-so scene and you make it even worse. And you think, What is the point of this?
I know the saying: if you want to write, you will find a way to write. And I believe that is true. But writing is hard enough on its own. And having kids makes it harder.
But do you want that written on your tombstone? I had kids and it was too hard to write.
You keep fighting. Trying to find a way. Trying to negotiate or balance or work out a way. Even if it’s not working now. Even if it’s not working at all. Because even if you think, I am wasting my time with this, then maybe you do stop writing for a little while and it feels even worse. Then it really feels like you’ve lost it, all these things you wanted to say, to get down on paper and now they’re gone.