Ode to a Locked Door
Locking the door puts you in a section of time and space that doesn’t exist for anybody else. If I’m struggling with something that needs writing and needs writing now, there is nothing like it.
The locks on toilet doors get a lot of bad press from me. Being chain-sawed out of one that had welded in the heat on the hottest day of summer when you already had a phobia about being locked in things (and have picked that very day to leave your mobile phone in the theatre where you’re working, two floors above, in order to ‘prove to yourself’ there’s nothing to fear) will do that to a gal.
I have acknowledged how the intervening decades have seen me become interested in fear instead of just – well – scared of it, and what that’s done for my writing. However, ‘credit where it’s due’ is an important concept and it’s time I said ‘thank you’ to the locked door. Or, at least, to the locked door I know I can open when I’m ready.
Many, many clients and friends over the years have said of themselves to me exactly what I’m saying of myself to you now: the power of being able to escape behind a locked door, even when it’s just your own bathroom, is delicious freedom. Nobody can suggest you’re being unreasonable. They can only assume your reason for stepping out of their shared reality is because of the reason most people go in there. And that’s why so many parents, siblings, bosses feel like it’s a massive confession to acknowledge they lock that door to get headspace – away from those they love and/or are responsible for.
What goes on behind that locked door falls off the map. I’m not talking about actual toilet breaks, or the inevitable other, more special and (one would hope) memorable moments between consenting adults. I’m talking about deliberately falling off the map , in an act of defient prioritisation of your own thoughts over the storm of other people’s. Being able to hear yourself think. Checking back in. Locking the door puts you into a section of time and space that doesn’t exist for anybody else. And it’s that corner I’m saying thank you to today. Because what I take for granted about locks is how often I use them for peace of mind, rather than the reverse: fear.
When we’re in anxiety mode, all the what-if circuitry is taken up with that. Yet separate yourself from the noise for a moment, and you get back in touch with your thoughts and feelings and personal agency. You’re no longer spread so thin. And all it takes is a pretend (or potentially pretend) loo break.
When I created my first Instagram carousel (which, for anyone uninitiated, is exactly what it sounds like: a number of pictures you scroll around on a post) I locked myself in the bathroom. It was the instinctive cure for overthinking. I walked away from my computer, locked the bathroom door, sat on the cold shiny tiles and didn't move until I’d edited the whole thing on my phone. This allowed me to get out of the depths of my head and let me concentrate on What This Is (which was a single social media post), not What It Represented (which was an overthinkably large new step in my business).
I worded it how I wanted to, as simply and truly as I could. I even worked out how to add some snazzy new effects I’d never have bothered to explore if I’d been in fear mode because all my creativity would have been feeling anxiety thoughts and there wouldn’t have been enough what-if left for finding all these things, let alone choosing between them. I posted the carousel.
Then I unlocked the door and got on with my life.
If I’m struggling with something that needs writing and needs writing now, there is nothing like locking the bathroom door and throwing it out of my head and into the world. I suppose this is a convenient extended metaphor of the vomit draft, but I prefer to think of it as being like a shopping list. You put down what you need to, straightforward and simple. I even do this if I’m home alone, which tells me it’s not about other people (although I do write better and more freely with the door shut). The locked door means this time inside doesn’t exist for anyone but me. A TARDIS of creativity.
Another TARDIS of creativity lands next Friday, 1 December. It’s an hour of prompts, exercises, support and inspiration to give you that little reminder you don’t need an empty day, or the perfect time. You just need the sense of fun and focus that gets ideas flowing. Join us 12-1pm UK time for a Friday Writing Workout.