I turned off my phone the other night. It felt weird, but I’d gotten advice from an unlikely source that it might be a good idea.

I listen to a fitness podcast called Thick Thighs Save Lives. As a person who enjoys exercising and overeating, I find it helpful to listen to these ladies who encourage health and a positive body image no matter what your shape may be. Lately it’s felt like my hour glass figure is turning into a wall clock, so it’s nice to listen to these two women who say things like, “Your body is changing. That’s okay, it does that. You deserve love and kindness. Let’s talk about the effect that eating an entire bag of mini Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups has on your liver.” They help me make better choices and not shame myself when I hurt my body with junk food.

The other day I was listening to their recent episode “How to Become a Person of Action.” It mostly talks about how to motivate yourself to exercise, but since the podcast is about your overall physical, mental, and emotional health, it can really apply to anything that a person wants to do. The first bit of advice was, “Don’t look at your phone first thing in the morning.” I’m paraphrasing, but they said that looking at the phone when you wake up is a rabbit hole of distraction.

I thought about what I do first thing in the morning. My alarm goes off. My phone IS my alarm clock. I switch it off and while I’ve got the phone in my hand I check the news to see what’s happened over night. Then I check my email. Then I crush candy (what I tell people when I’m playing Candy Crush). Then I scroll through Facebook and Instagram and Twitter. By the time I put the phone down I am anxious and my mind has been dissected into about thirty pieces. If my writer’s voice was one of those pieces, it is now shredded like beef through a meat grinder. The last thing I want to do at that point is settle into a writing groove.

So I decided to see what I would do if I turned off my phone at night. I woke up the next morning and I talked to my wife. Then I made her breakfast before she left for work. Then I let the dog out and played with the cats. Then I switched on my phone and sent text messages to a couple of people I know who are going through a hard time. The kids had just left to visit their dad, or else I probably would have made them pancakes.

When I realized that I wasn’t writing I called Melanie.

“I think that taking care of things is a distraction for me, ” I said. “I want to make sure that you, the kids, the cats, the dog, and my friends all feel loved.”

“I shouldn’t have let you make me breakfast,” she said.

“No,” I told her. “Stuff like that is important.”

What I meant was that I think all the little things that we do for each other are important. It’s the beginning of our marriage and I want us to have a strong, sweet foundation that we feel we can always come back to. So things like snuggling a little longer before we both have to get up is super important. But a breakfast that she didn’t ask for and is capable of making during writing time? She might have a point.

Mothering people who I am not the mother of is an issue for me. It made me think of how many times I’ve set writing time aside or let opportunities pass me by either because someone I love was having a bad day, or I was having an issue with them that I needed to fix. Luckily that’s not how my relationship is with Melanie, but it’s become apparent that if I’m not in a relationship where I need to take care of another person I will create situations where I do. Even if it’s as simple as making pancakes.

I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with being the person who makes a big stack of pancakes. I’m just saying that those pancakes are not a true kindness when I’m just avoiding other things I need to be doing. In other words, after a while of neglecting myself how likely am I to break down and hurl plates of breakfast at people in a fit of rage? The likelihood is high.

I’m reading Stephen King’s memoir On Writing. I identify with a lot of the things he’s saying, especially the part on page 50 where he says, “I have spent a good many years…being ashamed about what I write. I think I was forty before I realized that almost every writer of fiction and poetry who has ever published a line has been accused by someone of wasting his or her God-given talent. If you write (or paint or dance or sculpt or sing, I suppose), someone will try to make you feel lousy about it, that’s all.” He threw his novel Carrie in the trash because he didn’t think it was good. Did you know that? It was his wife, Tabitha, who pulled it out of the bin and encouraged him to keep going with it.

It’s Tabitha King who I’m curious about now. She had two babies in three years in her early twenties. So did I. She went on to have a third. Me too. And she’s a writer. How did she encourage her husband to write and raise little kids and pay bills and make time for friends and family and write? Did she skip the pancakes some mornings? When she finally found time to write did she stop mid sentence and think, “This is lousy” like I sometimes do?

“Fight fear with action” is another tidbit from “How to Become a Person of Action.” I’m afraid that what I write is not the best thing that I have to offer people. Honestly, sometimes I fry up batches of pancakes that are better than others. The fear of cooking something distasteful doesn’t stop me from getting in the kitchen and whipping something up. My writing won’t be palatable to everyone. That’s just the way it is.

“Stop waiting for ideal conditions,” is another rule. There will never not be someone who needs a pat on the back in the morning, nor someone in my house who won’t be delighted by breakfast in bed. Those things will still be there when I finish writing.

This morning Melanie and I talked about the day as she got ready for work. She’s an assistant curator of reptiles at the zoo, so she works Saturdays while I cover the home front. Sometimes I drive her to work, just so we can spend a little more time together and pick up a coffee. We got excited talking about a date tonight and she said, “I have to go. Want to ride with me and get a coffee?” I almost said yes, but I hesitated. She, having the same thought as I did said, “Wait. No. You should write.”

Tonight she’s getting all the pancakes. Though the Thick Thighs ladies might suggest spinach.