cozy reflection #1: The week I was forced to rest.
How Substack helped me find my way back home. ♡
This is my life — I wake up, get my chores done, eat, try to be creative, go serve sushi, come home — rinse and repeat. Six nights a week for five years.
And my body finally called a time out.
Beginning of February, I started to feel some pain in my left shoulder and arm after a busy night of holding trays and dealing with Karen’s.
Listen — I know I’m not the strongest pickle in the jar, so I chalked it up to a busy night, joked I got a “good work out in” during my shift.
But before the Valentine’s Day shift, I was pregaming with a lot of Tylenol.
Whenever it started to feel a little better, the pain just came back swinging. And every night I kept going in, forcing a smile, pretending I cared that their steak was medium and not “medium well” — (even though, it totally was, Karen).
While I’ve always joked that I was a grandma, this was the first time I physically felt like one. It got to the point where anytime I grabbed a coffee mug, or tried to wash my dishes, or give my dog some rubs — my shoulder, arm, back, and neck were screaming at me.
The last week I spent working — my body was infuriated after just two tables.
And for someone who’s been doing this, again, nonstop for five years, six nights a week… that was concerning.
Apparently I had a strain that I just kept further straining for two months, until all the related muscles were angry and started a riot against my upper body.
And so I was put on bed rest for a full week.
I got myself a bunch of Trader Joe’s frozen dinners to eliminate cooking/dishes. I propped myself up in bed with a bunch of pillows, cycling through various Disney+ movies on my iPad.
It would’ve been a lovely staycation if I was able to turn my head or make my bed without feeling like I needed a cane and a recliner after.
As someone who is so — go, go, go! — all the time and whose mind is racing ten thousand creative thoughts a minute, pausing felt insufferable.
I was beginning to understand how stir crazy my dog must have felt during the blizzards these past few months.
I rested for a few days before I decided to try drawing. I constantly kept myself in check — making sure my back was to the chair, my neck not craning over, scrutinizing every mark. But apparently, I had worn myself down to the point where I couldn’t even hold a marker.
Great. Love that for me.
So back to bed I went, with the pillows propped, the tray table with the iPad in front of me.
And that’s when it hit me: Substack.
I’ve previously had two failed Substack publications — and I only say failed because I gave up on them after two posts:
My art history ‘stack was fun but it started to feel more like homework than fun.
My art/DIY ‘stack I loved writing on, but started to overthink every post.
So I decided to give this one more try and start fresh, not niching myself down so I had the creative freedom to write whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.
Thus, 26ixty was born — a Substack existing under the niche of comfort. Comforting recipes, comforting films, comforting projects, comforting reflections.
And so I started writing. And writing. And writing.
It felt like coming home. I hadn’t written in so long, and I think part of me was scared to try my hand at the pen again because what if I had lost my spark? But it felt so natural. As soon as I started typing, I couldn’t stop.
And I know I’ll actually commit to this one because during my time of forced rest, I whipped out a bunch of drafts already queued up to go live.
So while everything is inflamed and I can’t move, I was ecstatic to learn that typing did not trigger any sort of flare. I forgot how natural writing felt to me — it was like breathing — and now that I’ve fully immersed myself in it again, my lungs feel full for the first time in years.
Joining Substack again — but this time from a place of comfort, rather than pressure — reminded me of my high school Wattpad days, when I was (not-so) sneakily drafting my stories in class, when I probably should’ve been paying better attention in physics.
As someone who used to always slam her notebook shut when anyone tried to glance at my work, I’m glad I’ve healed that anxiety to have fun publicly expressing my thoughts and journey on here.
Even if no one ever reads these words, I’m still writing again and fearlessly putting myself out there — trust me, that’s huuuge for me.
I’m still trying to find my rhythm again, but it’s like a rusty wheel, you just have to grease it up and keep rolling until you’re back on the right path.
And maybe it’s just the Hannah Montana anniversary special talking but… you always find your way back home, right?
Proud of you for allowung yourself to come back to you and share your writing. You are very much a natural, I look forward to seeing more 💗
this is post is so warm and inviting. I can't wait to see what you hv in store! and also there are no failed substack pieces btw only the ones that teach you the ropes to this place(its weird and huge) that said, I can't wait to read more from you! Just subbed!