A Post for All the Things We Didn’t Get To in October (Because the Basics Were Enough)

This morning, I sat down with my paper calendar to review the month and make notes for November, and noticed all the erasure marks. October was rough. It’s a month I usually love for the cooler weather, fall decorations, fun community events, and the quiet anticipation of the holiday season, but this year felt different.

As I looked over the smudges and question marks scattered across the monthly spread, I could see the story of this month written and erased: the plans that didn’t happen, the things that will get rolled over to November, the intentions that did not meet reality. October was heavy.

This month also marked my tenth month in business. Ten months of learning, shifting, and figuring out what kinds of writing support people most need right now. It’s a time of collective uncertainty. Many of us want to write, need to write, but don’t always know what kind of support we need to make that happen. That question —how to keep writing when there’s just so much —comes up often in my coaching conversations.

And, honestly, it’s one I ask myself too.

Caregiving continues to play a big role in my own life. If you’re in that role, you know what I mean. There are months when even your best intentions get rearranged. Appointments need to be rescheduled, more help is needed, and the to-do list is unwieldy. It can be hard to look back and see all the things you didn’t do, but it’s also a powerful invitation to practice grace and to remember that we can’t do it all.

I’ve written before about navigating writing while caregiving. Sometimes that looks like pausing. Sometimes it’s making a wish list or asking for support. But often, the hardest part (for me, at least) is slowing down long enough to notice what I actually need.

So here I am, looking at my messy October calendar, feeling a mix of regret and relief. Sure, part of me wishes I had finished more, the essays I wanted to come back to, the projects I wanted to mark as complete. But I’m also learning to see the other kinds of writing that happened this month: the forms I filled out to help those I care for, the emails to ask for help as I am still managing the details of my parents’ passing, the notes and ideas I jotted down for next year’s offerings at Full Circle, and the texts exchanges from those who care about me.

Some months, the basics are enough.

I don’t know what October was like for you; maybe you got everything done, maybe nothing at all. Wherever you are, I hope you can meet yourself with kindness.

If you’re reflecting on your month and want a gentle way to close it out, here are two writing prompts and an arts-inspired practice to help you reflect and prepare for November:

• How did you connect to your writing this month? Did that connection feel right given your energy and constraints?

• What are you most hopeful for in November when it comes to your writing? And if you’re not feeling hopeful right now, can you allow yourself a moment to imagine or wish for what you’d like that to look like?

• Make a small collage to honor your October. Gather scraps, images, words, or textures that capture what this month felt like — the undone things, the quiet moments, the bits of beauty that still showed up. Let the process be slow and intuitive. No need for perfection; just notice what emerges as you piece it together.

And if you’re craving support for your writing,  whether it’s finding your rhythm again or figuring out what you most need,  I’m here. Reach out, and we can explore what that support might look like together.