Which to Derelict

Growing up I always told myself I would never become my mother.

She was and still is a freelance writer. Watching her, while I grew up, struggle to find work and then keep up with the volume I said, "No matter what I will find creativity and stability."

Well I now consider myself freelance and I'm definitely a writer. But no matter how I try to go about my creative process I always seem to fall short in regard to my other commitments.

When you have fire inside of you toward whatever you're wiring about it all wants to come out at once. My brain is a bowl of spaghetti and I have to figure out how to untangle the meal, figure out what order it should be eaten in. I need quiet and unpressured lonesomeness. But how does one carve out necessary solitude when inspiration hits you amidst spending time with a loved one?

I felt so alone growing up, so neglected. Always sad, always tossed aside always forgotten about until guilt or worry swept me into the conciousness of my caretakers. And therefore, like I did not matter as an individual. I vowed to make sure my loved ones never experienced this from me.

I don't just fear that I am now exemplifying this dereliction. But how does one balance such a sporadic, selfish act? Postponement? Chicken scratch?