Can You Handle the Pinch?
How to manage the unexpected emotional labor that comes along with writing
Writer
, from his excellent book How to Write an Autobiographical Novel:"Students often ask me whether I think they can be a writer. I tell them I don't know. Because it depends, first and foremost, on whether you want to be one. This question is not as simple to answer as it seems. The difficulties are many, even if you truly want to be a writer. What seems to separate those who write from those who don't is being able to stand it."
When clients come to me at the very beginning of their journey as a writer, I always have to take their interest with a little speculation. They have not proven themselves yet; they are an unknown. Do they have the strength or the discipline or the insanity—whatever you choose to call it—to chain themselves to their desk and eke out this absolutely shitty rough draft? Do they have the courage or the resolve to look at that rough draft and keep going, go back to it over and over again, even in the face of all of their inadequacies and errors?
Until someone comes to me with proof of their sticking power—that shitty rough draft, a solid effort at sticking to blogging, something to show for the fact that they've started down the path—I don't usually put a lot of faith into their stated writing goals. Show me your bloodied hands and I'll start to believe you can do this.
As I re-read Chee's quote this morning, standing in my kitchen sipping my tea, I thought back to the last 11 years of professional writing. From travel blogging in 2013, to freelancing, to editing and writing books, it's been a long track to where I am now. I've tried to step off that track several times to no avail. It seems I am a writer through and through, even if I'm not all that good. Even if I sometimes don't want to be a writer. Even if I'm the only one who will ever publish my work. That last sentence of Chee's quote speaks to a special kind of masochism, an ability to withstand the pain, the frustration, the ennui, the tedium, the short-lived exhilaration of being a writer.
In The Managed Heart: Commercialization of Human Feeling, Arlie Russell Hochschild talks about the pinch of emotional experiences; the pinch is the difference between what we are expected to feel and display emotionally, particularly in a work or vocational setting, and what we actually feel.
For example, a customer service representative is expected to display calm, open friendliness, no matter what anyone says to them. But inside, they may be seething with rage because a customer is mistreating them. The pinch for a customer service representative will expand and shrink throughout their day and across their experiences. They have to manage that pinch all day, every day. A pinch that is too great costs a lot of emotional and mental energy and can lead to burnout and dissatisfaction with the career or vocation.
One of the questions the author posed: how well are we prepared to weather the pinches of the work we chose? How well did we understand the variance of emotional labor we'd have to shoulder to do this work?
Most of us writers are clueless.
When we enter into writing—whether it's to write a book, start a blog, or become a professional writer—most of us have no idea what we're entering into. It's difficult to gauge the kind of pinch you'll experience because it's so different for everyone, and I don't think many people speak about it honestly. When I think about some of my clients and how their book-writing process unfolded, and then I think about how they talk about their book and how it got written... there's a wide gulf. When you're out there marketing and putting on an enthusiastic face about your book, the last thing you want to say is, “I turned into a neurotic mess of insecurity and self-doubt and caused everyone around me to suffer because I couldn't manage it.”
I know very well-established and talented bloggers who regularly get waylaid by the chasm between what they want to feel (secure, appreciated) and what they actually feel (beholden to social media and the pressures it creates, and constantly nervous about readers unsubscribing).
I think there's an intellectual pinch that brings on feelings of shame, uncertainty, and fear. As you write your book or your blog post, you have to simultaneously tell yourself you're capable of writing while at the same time looking your glaring inconsistencies, vagueness, and potentially unspectacular ideas right in the face. You have to fight feelings of being a total imposter while still somehow giving yourself the boost you need to keep going.
If you enter the field of writing trying to make your way as a professional writer, you may feel the (financial) pinch between what you expect or hope to earn and what you actually earn.
If you head into the field of writing expecting accolades and enthusiastic support all along the way, you will experience the pinch between what you expect to feel—supported, excited, important—and what you might actually feel—lonely, bored, irrelevant.
Even when the accolades come, it might not feel how you expected it to. It was the first two weeks of lockdown in the early days of the pandemic. I was standing at the stove cooking dinner after days of being cooped up at home with my partner and then 3.5-year-old daughter. Everyone was exhausted. The meal was at that stressful point in cooking where everything comes to a head. Predictably, my daughter and partner descended into an all-out war over whether she could have frozen cherries at that very moment. My phone pinged; my client shared the news that the book we had written together had hit the New York Times bestseller list—one of the most sought-after accolades of any writer. I squealed in excitement and told Ryan the news. He tried his best to look enthusiastic and excited and then went back to the battle with Lily. I had a moment to myself and then returned to tending my sautéed vegetables. Later that night as I was doing laundry, I texted a few friends to share the news. My friend said, “So you’re celebrating by folding clothes?!” Yes. First ecstasy, then laundry. In other words, it was all a little more mundane than I expected it to be. (Don’t worry. I did celebrate properly at a later date.)
For those who enter for short-term gains like writing a book, by the time it's all over they are more than ready to move on from that experience, leave it in the rear-view mirror, and never talk about it again.
All of this is okay—but too many of us are unprepared for that pinch. We have no idea it's coming. We have fantasies of writing in the dim hours of the night (or morning) with a steaming cup of coffee (or tea) by our sides, while the dog nestles at our feet. The reality is often far from the fantasy—busy folks in the middle of their careers, who also have to juggle parenting and caretaking of their parents, often have to take scraps of time where they can find it. Or they have to deliberately take time away from their responsibilities to get it done (which then inspires guilt). Pinches all around.
Yes, you have to be able to stand it.
When writers struggle, it's as often because of the invisible, unacknowledged, and unprepared for emotional labor as it is logistical (logistical meaning they don't have time or are stuck on organization, etc).
Here are a few tips for managing that emotional labor:
Acknowledge the pinch: Naming it is half the battle. When you’re struggling, it’s easy to think something is wrong with you. But when you recognize that what you’re feeling is part of the process—not a personal failing—it’s easier to stand it. Think about what you expected to feel and what you're actually feeling. Admit to yourself that it's not what you expected or wanted, but it is what's true.
Cultivate patience: Writing is slow work. There’s no way around it. Allow yourself to be bad at it, to slog through it, and to make mistakes. Patience with yourself is a form of grace.
Accept that doubt is part of it: You will doubt yourself. Often. That doesn’t mean you’re on the wrong path. It's just a natural part of the process.
Rest, then return: Take breaks. Leave your desk. Walk away. The work will still be there when you come back. Sometimes distance is what’s needed to see clearly.
Celebrate milestones: Did you finish a chapter? Write 500 words today? Celebrate that. Every step forward deserves recognition.
Build endurance: You’re not just building a book; you’re building the muscle of persistence. This is the part Chee refers to when he says "being able to stand it."
Create rituals: Whether it's lighting a candle, brewing a cup of tea, or playing a specific song before you write, rituals signal to your brain that it’s time to enter a different state of being—the writing state.
Get support: Writing doesn’t have to be a solitary endeavor. Join a writer’s group, attend coworking sessions, or find an accountability partner. The process becomes more bearable when you’re not alone in it. (Check out Zenith; details below.)
Remember why you started: Go back to the beginning. Why did you want to write this story, this book, this essay? Hold onto that seed of purpose when the pinch gets tight.
Writing is not a journey for the faint of heart, but it is a path for those willing to endure the pinch. The discomfort of doubt, the strain of persistence, and the weight of patience are all part of the price of entry. But with each day you show up, each rough draft you face, and each revision you make, you build something far greater than a written body of work—you build the capacity to persist in the face of resistance. If you can stand it—if you can manage the pinch—you’ll not only finish your work, but you’ll emerge from it stronger, more self-aware, and more deeply connected to your purpose. And that, perhaps, is the real reward of the writer’s life.
Don’t write alone! Come join us at Zenith, a weekly, online coworking space for writers and creators like you. Click here to learn more.