I didn’t write for such a long time, because I always valued other tasks as more important. Task for my job, tasks for the projects I’m part of, tasks my friends or family asked me to, tasks that I thought were expected of me.
No matter what, it was always more important than to do the things that made me happy at the moment. And when I finally had time, I had to play a defiant little child almost as long as I had worked before. Every time I was mad at myself afterwards, that I didn’t assign my wishes a higher priority. That anger and defiance was expressed in a way that I just didn’t want to do anything any more. Not even the things that would make me happy.