Writing Between the Gaps: How I Create While Working Full-Time and Living with Cerebral Palsy

There’s a romantic idea of writing that floats around. Early mornings with perfect coffee, endless quiet, a mind that cooperates on command.

That’s not my reality.

I work 37 hours over 4 days. My energy isn’t limitless. And I live with cerebral palsy, which means my body and brain don’t always agree on what’s happening next. Fatigue, pain and then 100% unco-operation of limbs are an absolute thing, that I deal with 24/7.

Some days are smooth. Others feel like wading through treacle with ankle weights on. Especially right now, as I wait for surgery on my ankle.

But still, I write.

Not because it’s easy. But because it matters.

I Don’t Wait for the “Perfect” Time

If I waited until I felt completely well, fully focused, and magically energised, I’d never write a word.

So I stopped waiting.

Instead, I write in fragments:

• 10 minutes before I start work, usually around 7am.

• Notes and research scribbled during breaks

• A paragraph in the evening when I’ve got just enough left in the tank

It doesn’t look impressive in the moment. But those fragments stack. Slowly, quietly, stubbornly, they become chapters.

I Redefined What “Progress” Means

Some days, progress is 1,000 words. Some days, it’s fixing a single sentence, some days, it’s just opening the document and reading what I wrote before. Other days, it's accepting that writing isn't going to happen that day, and I allow myself to rest.

Living with cerebral palsy means energy can be unpredictable. So I’ve learned to stop measuring success by output alone. Showing up counts. Staying connected to the story counts.

I Learned to Pace Myself

Pacing isn’t just something I think about in my stories. It’s how I survive the process of writing them, and how I survive at life in general.

There’s a limit to how much energy I can spend in a day, and writing is only one part of that. Health comes first and life happens around it. My body has its own rules, but sometimes, work has to take priority.

There have been evenings where I’ve opened my laptop, written a few paragraphs, and felt that familiar pull to keep going. The words are there. The scene is flowing. It would be so easy to push for another hour. But I’ve learned to stop anyway, because I know what happens if I don’t. The next day, the energy isn’t there. My body pushes back. The small progress I made turns into a setback I didn’t need.

Pacing means:

• stopping before I’m completely drained

• leaving a little energy for tomorrow

• accepting that rest is part of the process, not something separate from it

It can feel slow. It can feel frustrating. But it’s the reason I can come back the next day and keep going.

More information on pacing can be found if you google Spoon Theory - I live by it.

I Work With My Energy, Not Against It

There are times when my focus is sharper, usually in short bursts rather than long stretches. I lean into those moments. When my energy dips, I switch tasks:

• brainstorming instead of drafting

• editing instead of creating

• researching instead of pushing words out

Writing doesn’t have to be one thing. It’s a whole ecosystem, and I move between parts depending on what I’m capable of that day.

I Let My Limitations Shape My Process

For a long time, I thought I had to write like everyone else with long sessions, strict routines and word count goals. That didn’t work for me.

Now, my process is built around how I actually function, not how I wish I functioned.

That means:

• flexibility over rigidity

• consistency over intensity

• self-compassion over guilt

It’s not the “ideal” writing routine. But it’s sustainable. And sustainable is what gets books finished.

I Remember Why I Started

When I’m tired. When progress feels slow. When my body is being particularly difficult.

I come back to this:

I have stories I want to tell. Worlds that exist because I made them. Characters who feel real enough to miss when I step away. Writing isn’t just another task on my to-do list. It’s something that belongs to me and a form of escapism, just like my cross stitching, or listening to audiobooks.

If You’re in a Similar Place

If you’re working full-time and your health makes things harder. If you feel like you’re constantly falling behind some invisible standard.

You are not failing.

You are not invisible.

You’re just doing it differently and different doesn’t mean less. You’re building something in circumstances that require more strength than most people will ever see.

And that counts. I don’t write in perfect conditions.

I write anyway.