what do you do?

and why this question feels so hard to answer

It’s been almost two years since I quit my job. It was a job that had become the proof of my value, evidence of my worth, and a key part of my identity. I let it define me. But with that amount of pressure, things are bound to go wrong, and I had grown to hate it and hate myself when I was there, so it was time to go. Me and my mental health needed a minute, so I took some time off after quitting, but over the last 20 months, whenever I’ve been asked what I do, I typically say, “I do small business consulting part-time.” Now, this isn’t a lie, but it’s not 100% true either. If we want to talk fractions, the “part” of my time that is dedicated to this consulting work would be quite small. Its sliver would sometimes be hard to find on a pie chart of my day. But that’s the type of work that feels like it conveys that I’m smart or have something to offer, so that’s what my brain feels safe saying.

The biggest part of the pie chart of my day is the part dedicated to writing. I’m writing a book, I write poems, I write and rewrite my website, I write social media posts, I write about writing… I just write.

So, I’ve been wondering why I don’t tell people I’m a writer. I think there are a few reasons:

1. I’m afraid people will think that sounds ridiculous and think I’m silly and naive.

2. I’m afraid people will ask what I write about and then I’ll totally overshare and tell them very personal things. Because that’s mostly what I write about.

3. I’m afraid people won’t take it or me seriously.

4. I’m afraid this isn’t real work.

All of these are dumb reasons not to be honest about what I spend my days doing. I’m not trying to be mean to myself, but the last two years have been about nothing if not being vulnerable, owning who I am, and becoming myself instead of who I think I’m supposed to be. So, if I want to keep living in a way that feels good to me, don’t I need to answer this question honestly?

I’ve noticed that the first three reasons listed above are “I’m afraid” statements that then indicate how “people” may feel, but the last is my own feeling. I know I’m not silly and naïve, I know I’ll probably overshare and that’s fine, and I don’t care if people take me seriously. But why am I afraid that the work I’m doing that fills me up and feels like it matters isn’t work?

Well, what is work? According to the dictionary, it’s “activity involving mental or physical effort done in order to achieve a purpose or result,” or “a task or tasks to be undertaken; something a person or thing has to do.” By these definitions, my writing is work. But somewhere in my brain, I’ve decided work must equal pay. To be of value, something must earn payment. I certainly hope to be paid for my writing (errr, work) someday, but I am not today. And this leaves me feeling like it’s not work at all.

The other thing is that if you call something your work, instead of say, a hobby, it carries something with it. A commitment of sorts, and with commitment comes vulnerability. It’s like I’m saying out loud, “This matters to me and I’m trying really hard and I want to be good at it,” which feels scary because it’s new and unknown and SO MUCH feels out of my control. I really like to be good at things. I’m desperate for someone somewhere to publish my book and tell me I did it, but they might not.

I read something on social media the other day that questioned when we become writers. Is it once we’re published or is it simply because we write? Does it depend on someone else’s appraisal of the topic, quality, or marketability? Does it depend on how many followers we have or how many likes we get? Or are we just… writers… because we write?

So maybe today I’ll try to claim writing as my work. Maybe I’ll decide that whether I’m getting paid for it or not doesn’t determine if it’s worthy, good, or enough. Maybe I’ll value my work for what it is to me, not for what someone else may think. Maybe I’ll commit to taking my writing seriously. If I want it to be my work, I’m the one who has to make it so.

But also, I wonder, even if I had a full-time paying job that was not writing, what if I still answered the question, “What do you do for work?” with “I’m a writer.” What if instead of claiming what pays the bills as our work, we viewed our work as (as the dictionary puts it), “something a person or thing has to do.” Because at this point in my life, I have to write. What do you have to do? And what is your work?