Why consistency doesn't work for me

What a week of pink eye + solo parenting taught me about creativity

Hi! If you’re new to Heartbeats, welcome. I’m Mariah, and I write about the messy, beautiful intersection of caregiving and creativity. Today’s letter is about choosing trust over consistency, and what pink eye taught me about sustainable creative practice. Heartbeats is a reader-supported community. Thank you for being here! 💗

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Hello.

Yesterday, my main accomplishment was sitting on the couch, watching Benson Boone’s music videos and interviews (I’m 100% obsessed!) The day before that, it was getting my kiddo off to school after waking up with my eyelids crusted shut and my husband on a flight to Virginia. I won’t bore you with a detailed list of the latest illnesses to befall our house, but for all the other parents of small, germ-infested creatures, IYKYK.

This week has been an exercise in scaling back to the point it’s almost painful, which has made me re-evaluate my relationship with my body, creativity, and worth. Just so we’re clear, sitting on the couch doing the bare minimum (I think the youth call it “rotting?”) is not my preference. I like to make daily calculations of my value, evidenced by the number of projects completed, people cared for, or progress made.

This habit has early roots.

I was the college student who double majored in nursing and Spanish and worked three part-time jobs, all fueled by caffeine and a determined belief that suffering was par for the course. The truth? That level of intensity + sleep deprivation nearly broke me. A year before I graduated (with honors), I was hiding not only my parents’ divorce and devastating housefire impacting my childhood home, but my own suicidality.

Somewhere along the way, I got the idea that if I could perform everything being okay, it would be. But a performance is hard to keep up 24/7. It’s exacting to the point that you start to forget the needs, wants, and desires of the person beneath the act.

You forget that you exist at all.

I’ve come a long way in learning how to honor my capacity and show up for myself authentically. And yet, even after years of practicing, I still struggle to trust my body and needs without feeling shame. The instinct is still to “push through” and channel all of the motivational, self-discipline jargon we’ve all been fed for decades.

This week? I didn’t do that.

Solo parenting an active toddler is challenging enough, but when I woke up with pink eye on top of a lingering sinus infection, I knew I had to set the bar as low as possible. i.e., Get the kiddo to school, make sure we’re both fed, and…that’s it.

I also accepted help, bypassing that little voice that said, “You’re fine, you don’t really need it…” So when the neighbors offered to bring over dinner one night, I graciously said yes. When my Mom texted asking what she could do, I asked her to bring soup and stay the night.

Eating a delicious, veggie-packed pasta from the neighbors on the couch, where I pretty much stayed all week.

I’ve also been asking my body what it needs every day, with the goal of loving it as intentionally as I would a friend. Comfort has been key, so has warmth, taking naps, and trusting that the rot is temporary.

I can’t say I’ve exactly enjoyed it, but I have tolerated it more than before. Instead of working through the tasks on my self-publishing to-do, keeping the house tidy, or making dinner, I’ve allowed myself the kind of rest that signals safety to my body and nervous system.

The kind of rest that says, “You’re worthy, even when you’re sick. I love you and I’ll take care of you, because you take care of me every day. Let me take a turn.”

And you know what? In chasing the Benson Boone rabbit holes and eating heart-warming food prepared by others with love, something has shifted for my creativity, too. I’ve been inspired, renewed, and reminded that I’m doing this work because I really want to.

One of the biggest lessons for me as a writer who is also a real person with other responsibilities and time constraints is how to create sustainably for me. It’s building a creative life with built-in time to rot, that’s flexible enough to weather frequent disruptions, and important enough to keep coming back to, no matter how long the detours.

For me, a creative life is more about trust than consistency.

It’s about seasons and cycles and believing as much in the roots below the surface as the growth above ground.

It’s also about drawing on a well of collective courage from others who’ve gone before. This week, that collective well of courage reminded me that setbacks and self-doubt aren’t obstacles on the path, they’re milestones. While watching random YouTube reels, I stumbled on this incredible interaction between Tom Hanks and the director of Forrest Gump (my favorite movie!).

After something like twenty-seven straight days of filming on set, Tom was starting to have doubts.

“Hey, Bob…is anybody going to care about this movie? I don’t think anybody’s going to care,” he asked.

And do you know what Bob said in response?

“It’s a minefield, Tom. You never know what’s good…It’s a minefield! It’s a goddam minefield! We may be sowing the seeds of our own destruction.”

Tom Hanks, contemplating if the movie Forrest Gump would be any good at all.

Of course, Forrest Gump went on to become a massive success, and Tom Hanks won an Oscar for the leading role. However, that’s not the point. They didn’t know any of that was going to happen. There were no guarantees of a positive outcome, and plenty of uncertainties in the thick of making the movie.

Instead of constantly worrying about the uncertainty of building a career as an author, this interaction reminded me to accept it as a companion on my path. I can choose to expect failure instead of avoiding setbacks. I can choose to infuse the process with joy, inspiration, community, and built-in time to rot. I can define success by how I persevere with gentleness and self-compassion.

My mind will continue searching for ways to avoid risk and reasons to work harder to alleviate the fear of failure. It will convincingly try to get me to give up without proof along the way of my success. It will ask me to override my body’s needs for rest and recovery.

But I can choose not to martyr myself in the name of art.

I can choose to walk through the creative minefield with courage, grace, and just the right amount of audacity.

All my love,
Mariah