I have made many half-arsed attempts at NaNoWriMo since deciding to pursue a writing career, but this year was the first time I took it seriously.
I’ll get straight to the point: I didn’t win. I didn’t cross 50,000 words mark. Hell, I didn’t even make half of that. I finished with only 13, 794 words.
But I didn’t fail.
No, because ‘fail’ insinuates that I gave up on my story, and that couldn’t be farther from the truth.
The truth being that Noah cut two teeth in November, one after another, and we had a long fortnight of disrupted sleep, and a grumpy mama and baby, just doing what we had to do to get by. It was like having a newborn again. Writing only happened if I didn’t nap when Noah napped, which I did—a lot.
It wasn’t without guilt.
Saying that, I spend much of my life feeling guilty nowadays. That’s what happens when you juggle so many roles. I forever feel like I’m failing—that I’m not a good enough mother, that I’m not giving my story enough attention, that I’m not keeping on top of the house.
But I’m beginning to realise that the only person who thinks I’m failing is—well, me. All I can do is my best.
That is good enough.
Time has a different meaning since Noah arrived. Even though I’m home full-time now, my days revolve around him. I write when he sleeps—as looking after him is my priority. But time is always in short supply these days.
So trying to write 1,667 words per day was always going to be a challenge, but when the teething hit, I knew it was out the window. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t intend to write as much as I possibly could—but again, the time shortage.
Napping at the same time as Noah ate into a lot of it.
Plus, I’m a slow writer. Whether drafting or revising—it doesn’t matter—I am SLOW. And that’s okay.
It’s so easy to feel like we’re not good enough today. We only see the best of everyone.
But we are good enough—and that’s why I’m taking those 13,794 and calling it a success. It is good enough.
I am good enough.