The other day I came across something called the “What the Hell” effect in a cognitive therapy-ish app called “Fabulous.” It struck a chord with me, so I did some reading. Today I’m going to talk about how struggling with strict targets can lead to a complete failure to meet your goals, particularly when trying to write regularly, and what you can do to stop this from happening.
What is the “what the hell” effect? I experience it most often with biscuits. I have been on a diet for some time now, as the drugs I take for my handicaps encourage weight gain (and I mean, they’re really encouraging, like Dallas Cowboy’s cheerleaders encouraging.) So, I try not to have biscuits. But I LOOOOOVE biscuits.
Now, let’s say I’m taking a break from writing, and I find a packet of biscuits in the cupboard that my wife has bought for the kids. Now I know I should not eat them. Not just because of my diet. They are for the kids. Yet I really, really want a biscuit. So, I take one. One is not going to do any harm, right?
Ten minutes later I have eaten the whole pack.
What just happened?
I feel guilt at having indulged as soon as I take one of the kid’s biscuits. I regret opening the biscuits. But I still want biscuits. I already feel bad for opening the pack, so what difference does it make if I take another? Suddenly I’ve eaten four biscuits (see how quickly that escalated), and I think “what the hell, I may as well eat them all”: I rationalise eating more not only by the fact that it’s better to be hung for a sheep than a lamb but also that eating biscuits will make me feel better.
Except now I’ve eaten all the kid’s biscuits and I feel terrible.
As writers, we constantly have to set our own goals and limits. A common one is to set a minimum amount of words to write per day. Occasionally this is easy – even a joy – and the words fly onto the page as if editing is a thing that happens to other people. But writing is rarely easy and sometimes the temptation to skip your targets for the day is too strong. Sometimes life just overcomes you and night has brought exhaustion before you’ve booted up your computer for the day.
This is where the similarity with the “What the hell” effect takes hold. Now you’ve missed one days writing targets, does it really matter if you miss another? When I skip my writing I usually take the time to do something else productive – we have three children, I have other work, there’s no shortage – this serves not only to justify my alternative use of time but to make be feel better about not writing. I didn’t write today but I did complete my tax returns. So I should feel okay, right? Wrong. I still feel bad about missing my writing. And that makes it even harder to start writing again, because I now associate writing with feeling ashamed for not writing!
The problem isn’t that you missed a writing session (or ate the first biscuit). The problem is the feeling of shame, guilt, and that you aren’t in control of your own time. Those feelings aren’t a necessary condition of not writing for one day: every day there are many people who don’t write at all or even notice that they don’t write. The feelings don’t come from the writing, but the sensation you’ve let yourself or other people down because you said you’d do something and you didn’t.
This is why we can compare promising not to eat biscuits (refraining from an action) with promising to write 500 words every day (taking an action). In both cases we are making a compact with ourselves about the sort of person we want to be and envisaging success through self-control. When our self-belief is damaged we attempt to assuage our pain with short-term alternatives: getting back on the horse, whether by returning to biscuit abstinence or getting some words on the page, reminds us of our original guilt – so we look for a quick and easy fix that will help us get back to a state where we can write. Before you know it a week has passed without writing and now you’re going to need some serious incentives to get back to work.
So how do we stop this from happening? The key is compassion. To be sure, it is important as a writer to find a routine. It is important as a writer to, you know, write. But do all those writers who are feted for their rigorous discipline really get out of bed at 0600 in the morning, go for a walk, get the kids dressed, fed, and in school, before four hours solid writing from 0830-1230 (leaving them plenty of time for housework, exercise, and marketing in the afternoon)? I call bullshit. Sure, they may well have a routine that works for them. But every day? And even if some miracle workers feel right in that routine, does that mean it’s right for you?
When you have failed to meet a target, you should take some time and think about the emotions you are feeling. What are you saying to yourself about yourself? Is it fair, or balanced? What would you say to a friend who had missed their days writing – or a weeks – or, hell, hadn’t written a thing in a month? If you’re any sort of decent person you would be kind and encouraging, and that is how you should be with yourself. Writing a story, a play, a book, an article, a thesis: all these things are a process, a journey that anybody could do if it were smooth.
Normalise the problem. You aren’t the only person who has missed an objective, and this won’t be the only time it happens. Authors do this ALL THE TIME and still get books out. What you mustn’t do is berate yourself and swear that in future you will meet these targets, because that is simply unrealistic. Instead accept that not finding time to write is something that will happen and is not something to feel guilty about.
Instead, focus on what you can do to make things easier on yourself: how can you find more ways to control the situation to give yourself time to write. What would make the experience more pleasant and less stressful? Focussing on what you can control removes the feeling of helplessness and failure that comes from missing a target. I was struggling today, so you know what I did? I got myself some biscuits that I was allowed to eat while I wrote. I came out feeling pretty good about things.
Every day is a new start. Every time you sit down and write is a win – but that doesn’t mean every time you don’t is a failure. Instead it’s a chance to think about how you can help yourself, to be kind to yourself for trying to achieve something difficult, and to let go of any guilt and shame. The key to avoiding the “what the hell” effect is accepting that everyone gives in an has a biscuit every now and then. Enjoy the biscuit. Enjoy two if you want. But do not give in completely just because you feel bad for stumbling: remember the point is to have a good time. You’ll get back to writing when you’re ready and when you make it right for yourself. Focus on helping yourself write, not punishing yourself for failing.
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