I hit a wall this week. It came out of nowhere (I thought); it bulldozed all of my coping mechanisms; it refused to be sidelined. Usually, I am an emotionally-steady, optimistic person who has no trouble putting in extra work--but what happens when there is no "extra"? A thread.

A long time ago, a wise friend told me to never work at 100%. "If you work at 100% all of the time, when a time of crisis comes, you won't have anything else to give." I took those words to heart, but publishing is an industry that demands 110%.

Resources are scarce. Windows of opportunity are short. After spending YEARS of their lives poring emotion and labor into their works, a publisher generally has 3 months after publication to make a book land effectively in readers' hands.

For indie presses and self-published authors, this is even harder. For the latter, they often don't have the benefit of whole teams working on their behalf, or traditional media support. And /their/ window for success is even narrower.

As a publicist for major, mid- and indie presses, as well as self-pubbed authors, I take each campaign at equal weight. I devote myself to the authors, the publishers, the clients--the booksellers and journalists and reviewers and editors and producers who love books.

It's a community built by genuine love--but like most "care-based" industries, it's one that operates in perpetual precariousness. I call it a good day when I work less than 9 hours, and that was before this crisis.

Now I'm mentally tapped at 5pm, but my brain is working at half-speed. Deliverables have increased and each is IMMEDIATE and ESSENTIAL and URGENT. And I, like most of my client-facing peers, am also doing an increased amount of emotional labor.

I work at an incredible company with a team who is understanding and flexible and deeply kind. But their assurance doesn't erase my pre-COVID expectations of myself. Before, I could work at 90-110% capacity and be like "I'm not getting everything done and that's okay."

Now I'm working at 80% or less, and unable to make up the difference by working longer hours because my brain simply CAN'T, and while I know I need to be kind and gentle on myself, it doesn't stop the thought that my lack of effective and clean work is a failing.

That I have not only failed myself and what I know -I- am capable of, but I have failed my team--my clients, my authors. I pride myself on being reliable. Not anymore. Again, these things are COMPLETELY out of my control, but the brain is... contrary by nature.

All this to say that this week I hit my wall. I openly SOBBED in the middle of a workday, fittingly during screen time with some of the work team, and hit a new low. But. BUT. That unforgiving vulnerableness was SO important.

It was a hard reminder that I am human... just like everyone else I am working for and with. I don't know why, but even though I encourage everyone around me to be vulnerable when they need to be, I never did that for myself.

Like a yo-yo, I'm feeling more myself than I have in weeks following my meltdown. So, I guess my message is, cry if you need to, stubborn people. Let it get ugly and messy and then let it go. ...and then read this thread, or something: https://twitter.com/TJQuinnESPN/status/1252610003355172864