The Responsibility of Language: Self-Care as a Ghostwriter

“How do you tell the stories and not get caught up? I’m sure it’s hard and has some impact on you. How do you protect yourself?” Those were the words a new acquaintance asked me during a break at a women’s writing conference in 2019. I hadn’t thought about it in those terms, but it sat with me. It became a question that I often asked myself as a ghostwriter: what was my plan not to drown in recounting the overwhelming experiences of others?

Years later, a discussion arose on my interest in ghostwriting, a project that would delve deep into societal trauma. I reached out to my literary agent because I wanted the visibility that the opportunity would present. We crunched the numbers, “What about your recovery time? Therapy costs?” Ugh. There it was again, this question about protecting my mental health while sharing the sorrowful story of someone else. Ultimately, I didn’t get the contract, but I’m glad I didn’t. It would have cost me too much, even if they were paying me.

In memoir work, a deep level of connection and intimacy develops between the author and co-writer (ghostwriter). For me, it’s much like preparing for a role on stage or screen, requiring a commitment to understanding the “character” and making choices the same way they would. An out-of-body experience of sorts, stepping out of my personal and into them. The result is often a beautiful work in which I disappear between the lines and allow the author’s voice to show through. Each time I have this honor, I am changed a bit. I take on new perspectives. Deeper understanding. Fresh takes. I’m undeniably better as a human at the end of each ghostwriting project because of an expanded view. But none of that negates the need for deliberate self-care.

I’m undeniably better as a human at the end of each ghostwriting project because of an expanded view. But none of that negates the need for deliberate self-care.

For the past few weeks I have been operating in the voice of some deep thinkers with painful, incendiary stories. I’ve been tired and unmotivated, plowing through the work anyway. I finally had to stop, accept responsibility for how much I internalize, and take action. Here’s how I’ve brought that into focus:

• Therapy — Because I’ve got to keep a great therapist to help me sort through real-life and literary challenges. She also helps me celebrate the wins I’m inclined to speed past.
• Silly Word Play — I recently bought our family The Storymatic Kids! card game. I primarily use my work words for social justice and hard conversations. The game allows me to use my words for laughs and imagination.
• Reading — Words have been and always will be an escape, especially when wrapped as fiction and romance. Just last night I fought off sleep to finish Sonali Dev’s The Vibrant Years. (Here’s looking at you 3:38am)
• Nature — Sometimes, I simply step outside to absorb real sun and air. No matter what tragedies the world is experiencing, it’s a grounding thought to know that we are all glimpsing the same sun, moon, and sky, regardless of our political affiliations, demographic separators, or polarizing ideologies.
• Binging Joy — In addition to throwing myself into novels, I am equally content curled up in a ball binge-watching things that bring me joy. Old sitcoms. Outlandish reality shows. Murder mysteries.

Although I’ve been writing since I can remember, owning my space as a writer comes with specific considerations and responsibilities. Among them is the need for self-care and internal connection. My work as a ghostwriter allows me to share the stories of others. But that very same work also requires that I tap back into self often and authentically. Writing in my own voice is a big part of the balance and recovery process when navigating hard stories. In fact, what you’ve just read is a prime example of my self-healing through words.

As a writer, how do you balance the responsibility of language with your self-care?

Disclosure: As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases.