Capacity vs. capability

It's a vital distinction.

For most of my life writing hasn’t failed me. 

Unlike coming up with the witty one-liner during dinner party conversation, words on the page have never been a great source of pressure.

But trying to get back in the flow after a four year hiatus threw me for six. Words that danced in my mind just wouldn’t sit still in print. 

Clickety clack. 
Crickets.

Such moments of “mediocrity” saw me backflipping into insecurity and I was soon reacquainted with my longtime companions: fear and self doubt.

So I decided that I had two options: give up or persist.

I chose the latter…

And started serving popcorn and treating my creative process like a pro wrestling match — watching thoughts careen madly between All Star Cheerleader and School Yard Bully. It was as if Jekyll & Dr. Hyde had taken up a permanent spot in my amygdala, sharing tea and biscuits and fury. 

Front row stuff really.

Golden Nuggets.

But I’m surprisingly thankful for this short term floundering, as it’s led me to consider some of the challenges we face when trying to connect with our own inspiration…or follow new pursuits…or put the laundry away.

And it’s been a helpful reminder to not let a moment of futility lead to inherent judgement of self worth. 

Because the reality is that the road to accomplishment, to habit formation, to embodying our authentic selves, can often feel insurmountable in the face of our day-to-day realities. 

(When the goalpost is set too high, it’s also easy to miss all the small wins we make along the way.)

I’ve spent the past six years deep in motherhood — working in the home for my family and children — and regaining a sense of Me separate from Us has presented a unique challenge.

This disconnect was showing up in my writing. The “comeback” felt clunky and rough and downright wrong.

And for a fleeting moment I thought that Mama had usurped all the separate parts of me…

Yet the real snag turned out to not be as grandiose as existential battle with self-identity. Rather, it was a simple matter of CAPACITY. 

No time for writing but I’ll drop most appointments to wrap herbs in twine.

CAPACITY. Not capability.

This phrase has been my North Star for mental health these past six years. I have lived and breathed it. Held onto it like a life raft during those long newborn nights, the many relocations, whilst grieving the death of loved ones, managing “home” with a husband who travels, and the birds eye view of watching a career and business drift away like a boat in the night.

Capacity. Not capability.

It’s a reminder that just because we can’t right now doesn’t mean we’re incapable. It’s not a reflection of our ability, just our current reality.

Capacity. Not capability.

The distinction is crucial and I ask you to remember it. Yes, we have unlimited potential, but we don’t have unlimited time and we need to triage where we send our efforts on any given day.

Capacity. Not capability. 

Easier said than done…

Admittedly, it can be really bloody hard to maintain this perspective in a society that glorifies income, progress and collagen. 

(All of which I’ve lost a lot of lately.)

Even in the past 10 years, the bar for being a modern woman has reached astronomical heights. And I often think, with trepidation, about the example of womanhood we are setting for our girls:

• Pursue and excel in a fulfilling career

• Be a Pinterest-worthy parent

• Stay fit and youthful

• Support your community 

• Find your tribe

• Lift the glass ceiling 

• Dust the glass mirror

• Research the best compostable packaging

• Reserve a few quiet moments with your pelvic floor

Gah!

So as I sat struggling to string syllables — sneaking half an hour a day to write outside my full-time parenting gig, glimpsing fingerprinted mirrors and trying to forget that I had neither signed the excursion permission slip nor made dinner —it could have be easy to declare myself incapable.

(And believe me, I have a high tolerance for rumination and an almost fatalistic attitude towards my own progress.)

But for us all, failure to achieve a single end result is not the whole story. 

And the delays we find ourselves walking through are actually

(a) wonderful moments that should not go unnoticed, nor uncommemorated;

(b) lessons in perspective, nuance and maturation;

(c) watching the Beckham documentary in one sitting.

They’re not wrong.

And if you’ve meandered off your chosen path for a little while, or you feel like you can’t keep up with everything that’s expected of you, you’re not wrong.

You’re simply a human being asked to generate output at a rather non-human level.

So as I sit here — waiting for Jekyll & Hyde to finish quibbling over the last Scotch Finger biscuit and hoping that soon they’ll leave me and my fumbling fingers in peace — I encourage us all to realise that the value of creation/exploration/life lies more in the process than the outcome. 

If we can lean in to embracing the frivolity within the goals we pursue…

If we can appreciate that all our actions are part of a grander journey that needn’t be rushed…

If we can replace the maze of internal rumination with a little creative doodling…

If we can remember that just because we can, doesn’t mean we can right now…

Then we welcome the spring of curiosity. Where the paths followed can bring a delight we might otherwise have missed. 

Because looking back, I can clearly see that my time has been spent well, even if it hasn’t been spent here. And the stories I’ve written are etched in my being, even if they weren’t scrawled in ink.

A moment of grace.

So I ask you to give yourself grace in whatever you’re not yet achieving. To look around and see the amazing things you already do. And to remember that choosing space and time is a very noble effort indeed. 

Clickety, clack. 

Jenn x

P.S. (Because we’re all in this together.)

Funnily, I wrote this article last year (!) and it sat collecting dust on my disorganised hard drive whilst I procrastinated, attempted to perfectify, and simply didn’t hit publish for fear of beginning.

More recently, I stumbled upon the thoughtful work of Elin Petronella who also writes about her limit for capacity, also in the early years of motherhood. She was prompted by a comment made by Emma Gannon around capacity in wellness. A similar wrestling of ideas as here.

What if we all got the idea of wellbeing wrong?

At first my heart sank in thinking “I’m too late. I should have hit publish first.” 

I could hear the joints of creaky old comparison come shuffling round me.

But then I remembered Liz Gilbert’s Big Magic and the thought that ideas float around for all who will reach out and take them. And then I realised how wonderful it is to not be lonely in this experience of reaching my own capacity. And that this concept is universal, which of course I had hoped it would be if I was (a) quietly living it over here (b) writing about it to you over there.

Writing publicly is such an interesting exercise in our own mental state and the in-flux nature of the fragile human ego. 

It was always my intention to start this community as a way to create decentralised wellness. I know some things and you know others and with community, both online and IRL, we can weave a full tapestry of knowledge and skill.

The age of the “expert blogger” is surely over, and I’m loving that from the very first post I can see a connection of thought with other writers where no one needs to be guru and we can all lock step in together. What a thrill!

Please let me know your thoughts on Capacity vs. Capability below :-)

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