Mental Health Days & the Cost of Neglecting My Creativity
I took two days off for my mental health—and ended up rediscovering the magic of editing. But why did I have to wait for burnout to make space for creativity in the first place?
This past week, I took two mental health days off from work.
Side note: Why does this feel so hard to do? When we're physically sick, taking time off is a no-brainer. But when our minds feel fried, it somehow feels indulgent—like we have to earn the right to rest.
Still, I did it. And it was the best thing I could’ve done. (Even though, let’s be honest, two days were not enough.)
Part of the reason I needed the break was to catch up on life. Lately, all my commitments have been yelling at me at once, and it’s been impossible to cross anything off my to-do list while also working a full-time job. But more than that, I was desperate to return to my novel-in-progress. The story had been tugging at my sleeve, and I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
So I cleared my calendar, turned off social media and email (and Amazon, because I really needed to stop checking book sales), and planted myself at a coffee shop, and later in my comfy living room chair. For hours, I re-read my edits, picked up where I left off—and actually made progress. TEN HOURS of editing. It felt so good to be back in it. I fixed a plot hole that had been stumping me and rewrote entire sections. In fact, most chapters I’ve touched are now completely different from the first draft. And that’s okay.
I used to hate editing. After pouring my soul into the first draft, the idea of tearing it apart felt overwhelming. I wanted it to be perfect the first time. I didn’t want to see what wasn’t working. But I’ve learned that the first draft is just the bones of the story—it’s me telling myself what happens. Editing is where the story gets its soul.
With editing, I can weave in subtle threads that show up later in the story. I can give characters motivation that makes sense. I can delete the flowery sentences that bog things down and find the sharp, clean ones that carry the story forward.
There’s magic in that. And for three days of my four-day weekend, I got to live in that magic.
Now I’m back to work. It’s Wednesday, and I haven’t touched my manuscript since Saturday. The creative momentum I had? It’s stalled. And I hate that.
In my book Reclaim Your Creative Soul, I wrote this:
“When it comes to making time for your craft, can you honestly say you’re treating it as a non-negotiable? Or are you allowing your comforts, your life, and everyone around you to get in the way of your craft? If you consistently let other things take priority over your craft, you are saying your creative time is negotiable.
Are you okay with this?
I’m willing to bet that you’re not. So then, why would you ever let other things become more important than your art?
Simple. You don’t believe your art is a priority.”
Oof. Heard loud and clear, past Crissi.
Here’s the truth: I have a full plate. I work full time. I volunteer. I say yes to a lot of things that take up my time and energy. And because I haven’t carved out sacred, non-negotiable time for writing, I’ve lost it. I’ve had to take mental health days just to make room for creativity.
There’s nothing wrong with mental health days. But what pushed me to need one in the first place? And what can I do to prevent that kind of overwhelm going forward?
I start by remembering that my writing isn’t a luxury. It’s a lifeline. It’s part of what keeps me whole.
I won’t always get it right. Life will keep being loud. But I can protect my writing time like it matters—because it does. I can say no more often. I can stop waiting for burnout to give me permission to write.
Next time, I don’t want to need a mental health day just to see my novel again.
I want to build a life where writing isn’t the exception. It’s the rule.
I don’t just write rambling blog posts, I also write love stories. Find them all here.