Writer’s Block and a Confession I’m Absolutely Terrified to Share With You

Writer’s Block and a Confession I’m Absolutely Terrified to Share With You

I have a confession to make.

Since my last post (you know, the one where I admitted that I was breaking down?), I’ve been unearthing a lot of shit (sorry, there is no better word to describe it). I’m talking unprocessed experiences I’ve been storing in my cells and nervous system, limiting beliefs I didn’t even know were at play, and a slew of other stuff that is causing me to stop seeking answers outside of myself, and forcing me to look within. It’s messy, it’s deeper than I ever thought I had it in me to go, and at times it elicits a physical reaction (the need to throw up, full body shakes, heart palpitations – that sort of thing). Basically, I’m calling all of my own bullshit, and I’m re-experiencing situations in which I didn’t fully allow myself full emotional expression.

It sounds like it should be scary, but the truth is, it’s not. It is liberating me, unlocking stuck emotions and ideas that have been unconsciously messing with my life compass for longer than I care to admit (or even knew).

Doing this work is also having a side effect I didn’t see coming (though now I realize, well, how could it not?). It’s affecting my ability to write. Specifically, it’s affecting my ability to write about anything other than this process. And while I tend to be an open book, some things are better left unsaid. I can’t talk about things that I haven’t quite processed yet. And though I have nothing to hide, I’m going to go ahead and keep my mouth shut. It’s time I spent a little less time talking and a lot more time listening.

So though I have about a dozen posts written and ready to go, I can’t authentically post them. They don’t represent a real, true and raw reflection of the state of my life.

Right now, it’s messy. Good, messy. But messy nonetheless.

And I’m not ready to share it with you.

This is a hard pill to swallow for someone who makes a lot of her her living with words (and who is a self proclaimed over-sharer), but something inside me knows that this silence will probably make me a better writer. And if it doesn’t, then that’s ok too. It has to be.

Because I know the truth is that sometimes words are not what are needed. Sometimes, silence is the answer. And in the last few weeks, I have experienced the magic that comes with quieting the mind and mouth, and listening instead. I have learned that sometimes it’s important not fill every silence with words. Sometimes it’s important to sit in those awkward silences until they become un-awkward (or don’t – who cares?), until we can quiet our minds enough to hear the beat of our own hearts, to experience the truth of what makes us tick, and to not do anything but listen – no matter how uncomfortable it makes us.

So if you don’t hear from me for a while, it’s probably because I’m sitting in silence, listening to nothing, and finding everything.

Talk to you soon,