Writing as a Chronically Ill Author (Among Other Problems)

One of my biggest problems as an author is comparison, especially now that I've entered the publishing space.

I look at other indie authors' numbers and compare them to my own, telling myself that it must be my marketing or my premise that is falling short. But the comparison, I realize, does me no good at all. Because I am not them, and they are not me.

My writing journey is going to look different from theirs, as is true with every author. Mine especially because of the current circumstances.

I've struggled since college with fatigue, constantly wondering how my family were constantly out doing things and still coming home to do more. In my head, it narrowed down to me being lazy. I stopped writing as much. I stopped imagining.

My days consisted of going to my classes, coming home, laying down, and staying in my bed until someone forced me out of it. Little did I know that this was NOT laziness, but a much deeper issue.

When I moved to Columbus and started teaching, the fatigue got worse. I got sick. I didn't recover. A full day at work was a rarity for me as I struggled with an overwhelming exhaustion that threaded through every inch of my body. And mixing with that exhaustion was guilt. Overwhelming guilt that I wasn't doing enough for the other teachers on my team. Not doing enough for my students. Not doing enough for my admin. Not doing enough for my family. For my partner. For his family.

Lazy. That's what I was to myself. Coming home each day to simply collapse and sleep until the next day came around. Barely able to make myself food. Barely able to make myself shower.

After a lot of therapy, doctor's appointments, and reassurance from my partner and family, the realization slowly dawned on me.

I'm not lazy. I'm sick. Really sick.

The exhaustion I felt? Dysautonomia. ME/CFS. MCAS. My week usually went like this: three to four days of work and one day of doctor's appointments per week. I went everywhere. Checked everything.

On top of everything else, they found a potentially cancerous nodule on my thyroid (which already doesn't work properly because of my hypothyroidism and Hashimoto's). The first biopsy was inconclusive, and the office I was going to refused to do a second one because I "didn't tolerate the procedure well".

Four months later, I had a second biopsy done at a different hospital, where I found out that the first doctor had done the procedure completely incorrectly in the first place. The second biopsy came back. Papillary thyroid carcinoma. Highly treatable, thank God, but still cancer nonetheless.

While all of this was happening, I was struggling to muster up the energy to market Grasping at Embers. It took all of my energy to work and then come home and do more work. My saving grace was the school year finally coming to a close.

Recently, I saw an oncologist who specializes in thyroid cancer and surgery. She laid everything bare for me. My entire thyroid has to be removed, and I'll have to be on a hormonal replacement for the rest of my life. Tough as that sounded, it wasn't the worst news.

As they walked me back to scheduling, I had a pit in my stomach. I could sense it coming. My book release was about three weeks away, and this surgery needed done as soon as possible. Surely, surely it couldn't be the week of my book release--what I've been waiting for since middle school.

And then, that's what happened. June 23rd, I'll be in the hospital for around 5 hours, getting my thyroid removed and then sitting in a recovery room. I'm not certain when I'll be able to fully get back on my feet, but this much I know for sure. The week my book comes out, I'll be unable to give it all the support it deserves.

And at first that felt terrible. I felt guilty. Overwhelmed. Defeated.

But, the indie community I've found myself in has stepped up in a big way. Offered to help Grasping at Embers and myself even though I've only had this account for a little over a month. and half.

For that, I am eternally grateful. I feel some relief now, that even when I'm in surgery, there will be people shouting Grasping at Embers into the void that is the Insta algorithm.

So thank you to all of you. Friends, family, readers, and anyone who has stepped up to support me or my book. To any chronically ill authors out there: do your best, but don't push yourself too far. In my experience, your writing is not worth your health.

It truly does mean the world to the little girl who dreamed of publishing this book a long, long time ago.