The Chaos, Coffee, and Creative Madness of Writing

Writing Clean Break has been a rollercoaster of emotions, filled with more coffee than anyone should damn well drink, moments of self-doubt that made me want to throw in the towel, and occasional bursts of creativity that made it all worth it. When I first set out to write this book, I envisioned it being a calm, peaceful experience. I imagined myself sitting quietly at a desk, sunlight pouring through the window, my thoughts effortlessly translating onto the page. If only that vision were true. The reality has been anything but serene. It has involved early mornings, late nights, and juggling a chaotic family life while trying to maintain a shred of sanity in the process.

Let’s start with a day like today, which is a perfect snapshot of what this process has been like. I woke up at 4 a.m., determined to get a fucking head start on a chapter that has been haunting me. Still half-asleep, I dragged myself into the kitchen, set up the coffee machine, and waited for that life-saving elixir to kick in. After what felt like an eternity, I went to pour myself a cup only to realize I had brewed a pot of hot water. Somehow, I forgot to add the coffee grounds. It was one of those moments where all the effort results in nothing, leaving you with a decision: do you let frustration take over, or do you laugh it off and keep pushing forward? After a brief internal scream, I chose the latter and got back to work.

The challenges of writing this book have been relentless, especially when trying to balance it with family life. There’s a common misconception that writers have endless hours of uninterrupted time to pour their thoughts onto the page. The truth, at least for me, has been far messier. Writing sessions are crammed into whatever time I can steal, whether it’s before everyone else wakes up, during quick breaks between errands, or late at night when the house finally settles down. One moment, I’ll be deeply focused, writing about breaking free from toxic relationships, only to be pulled out of that flow by a family emergency, such as a lost shoe or a debate over who gets the last slice of pizza. Real life doesn’t pause just because you’re trying to write a book.

This constant juggling act has taught me to become more adaptable in my writing process. I’ve had to learn how to capture inspiration quickly, even if it hits me in the middle of cooking dinner or while driving to pick up groceries. I keep a notebook on hand wherever I go, just in case a random idea decides to show up at an inconvenient moment. There’s something almost comical about pulling out a notebook while trying not to burn dinner or jotting down a thought in the grocery store aisle while pretending to give a shit about which brand of cereal to buy. Yet, that’s how this book has come together, with inspiration arriving in fragmented bursts, often when I least expect it.

One of the major turning points in this journey was realizing that I was trying to cram too much into a single book. In my eagerness to cover every aspect of breaking free from toxic influences, I found myself overwhelmed by the sheer volume of content. Each time I revisited a chapter, I noticed that I was skimming through essential concepts because I was desperate to fit everything in. The manuscript was growing into a monster that felt more like an information dump than a thoughtfully crafted guide. It wasn’t until I decided to break the book into a trilogy that I found the space to breathe. This decision allowed me to dive deeper into each topic without feeling rushed and gave readers a chance to digest the information in manageable pieces.

However, turning one book into three wasn’t an easy fix. With that choice came a new set of challenges. Suddenly, I had three manuscripts to manage instead of one. It wasn’t just the workload that increased, but also the self-doubt. The more I spread the content across multiple books, the more I found myself questioning whether each part was substantial enough to stand on its own. Perfectionism became a constant companion, whispering in my ear that every word had to be flawless. I would obsess over individual sentences, rewriting them until they lost all meaning, only to scrap them and start over. It’s easy to get stuck in that loop, where nothing ever feels good enough. Eventually, I had to accept that sometimes “good enough” is exactly what it needs to be.

Finding the balance between seriousness and humor has been another delicate challenge. The topics I’m writing about, such as relationships, trauma, and healing, are heavy and can easily weigh down the narrative. Yet, I’ve always believed that life, even in its darkest moments, has room for humor. Humor can be a fucking lifeline when everything feels overwhelming, and it can offer a fresh perspective when the situation feels hopeless. I’ve made it a point to include lighthearted moments throughout the book, not just to break the tension, but to reflect the reality of how we cope with life’s struggles. Whether it’s a quick joke about the absurdity of trying to parent while writing or a relatable comment about the chaos of family life, these touches of humor add an authentic layer to the narrative.

Technical difficulties have also been an unwelcome part of this process. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been on a roll, only to have my computer freeze or lose a file because of a glitch. Just when I think I’m making progress, something inevitably goes wrong. It’s enough to make anyone want to throw their computer out the window. But over time, I’ve learned that resilience is key. When things go wrong, you have to find a way to work around the problem and keep moving forward. There’s no room for getting stuck in frustration, no matter how tempting it might be to wallow in the setbacks.

Perhaps the most emotionally challenging aspect of writing this book has been revisiting painful memories. Writing about toxic relationships and the journey of healing from them requires revisiting dark places that I would rather leave behind. There have been days when I had to step away from the manuscript because it became too overwhelming. Reliving those experiences isn’t easy, but it’s necessary if the book is going to be authentic and truly helpful to those who need it. It’s about taking those difficult memories and turning them into something constructive, something that might guide someone else through their own healing process. The vulnerability required to share those experiences honestly is both daunting and essential.

Despite the challenges, there have been moments of pure joy when everything clicks into place. On rare occasions, the words flow effortlessly, and the ideas come together as if they were always meant to fit that way. It’s like catching lightning in a bottle, fleeting but electrifying when it happens. These moments remind me why I started this project in the first place. They don’t happen every day, but when they do, they make all the late nights, the frustration, and the endless revisions worth it. The feeling of seeing the pieces align and knowing that what you are creating has the potential to help others is deeply fulfilling.

Creativity, as I’ve discovered, does not follow a schedule. Inspiration often decides to show up when I’m busy doing something completely unrelated, like taking a shower or driving to run errands. Some of my best ideas have come to me in the middle of mundane tasks, forcing me to drop everything and capture them before they slip away. I’ve learned to keep a notebook by my bed because the middle of the night has a funny way of delivering those sudden bursts of insight when I’m trying to sleep. While it’s not the most convenient system, it works, and it’s a testament to the unpredictable nature of the creative process.

Perfectionism, as I mentioned earlier, can be a double-edged sword. On one hand, it pushes me to constantly improve and strive for my best. On the other hand, it can be paralyzing, trapping me in a cycle of endless revisions where nothing ever feels complete. There comes a point when you have to accept that perfect does not exist, and that the pursuit of it can be more harmful than helpful. I’ve had to teach myself to recognize when it’s time to move on, even if something isn’t exactly how I envisioned it. Otherwise, the project risks becoming stagnant, caught in the pursuit of an unattainable ideal.

Family life has been both a challenge and a grounding force throughout this writing journey. While it has undoubtedly made it harder to find uninterrupted writing time, it has also reminded me of what truly matters. Writing a book about breaking free from toxic influences is important, but it is not the only thing that defines my life. The daily routines of raising kids, managing a household, and navigating the ups and downs of family life have provided me with a sense of perspective that I might have otherwise missed. It’s easy to get lost in the work and forget the bigger picture, but those everyday moments have a way of bringing me back to reality and reminding me of what’s most important.

Procrastination has also made its presence known more than I’d like to admit. It’s remarkable how suddenly everything else becomes urgent when you’re supposed to be writing. I’ve found myself deep-cleaning the garage, reorganizing bookshelves, and even tackling long-neglected home improvement projects, all in an effort to avoid sitting down and facing the blank page. It’s funny how creative you can get when you’re trying to avoid something difficult. But eventually, you have to stop avoiding the task and face it head-on, no matter how uncomfortable it might be.

The setbacks I’ve encountered along the way have been real, but they have also taught me resilience. There have been countless moments when I considered giving up, when the process felt too overwhelming, and the goal seemed impossibly far away. But every time I hit that wall, I reminded myself of why I started this project in the first place. Writing Clean Break is not just about finishing a book; it’s about creating something that can genuinely help others navigate their own struggles. That purpose has kept me going, even when it felt like everything was conspiring against me.

Self-doubt has been another frequent companion on this journey. Writing a book that is meant to offer guidance and support to others comes with its own set of pressures. There have been times when I questioned whether I was the right person to be giving advice, whether my experiences were relevant enough, or whether anyone would even care about what I had to say. That kind of doubt can be crippling if you let it take over, but I’ve learned that the only way to get through it is to keep writing, to keep pushing forward, and to trust that the message is more important than the fear.

The journey has been anything but smooth, but it has also been incredibly rewarding. There is a deep sense of satisfaction that comes from seeing your thoughts take shape on the page, from knowing that all the late nights, the frustration, and the sacrifices are leading to something real. Writing Clean Break has been about more than just putting words on a page; it has been a journey of self-discovery, growth, and learning to navigate the chaos of life with a sense of purpose.

As I reflect on what it has been like to write this book, I can’t help but smile at how much of the process has been shaped by small, seemingly insignificant moments. These are the moments when everything feels like it’s going wrong, but you find the determination to keep moving forward anyway. Creativity is not about having everything perfectly aligned; it’s about showing up, doing the work, and trusting that eventually, it will all come together in the end. And yes, after all those setbacks and moments of doubt, I finally did get that cup of coffee, and it tasted like victory.