I’ve been having some serious writer’s block. It’s been a problem for a long time. I hit emotional overload and the connection between my brain and my typing fingers has become buried in the sludge of thoughts, feelings, fears, regrets and grief.
This is challenging for me because not only is writing how I earn a living, it’s also how I process. I want to get this stuff out. I want to have “aha” moments and learn, grow and heal through reflecting on my own words.
And I want to help others. People frequently tell me they feel a connection to be because of my openness and authenticity. Because I’m not afraid to share the messy stuff. I love helping others by telling my story. And I love that sharing my journey helps others feel less alone.
But I am stuck.
I have 50 drafts saved. Things I want to write about. As something happens I want to share I pop it into draft mode, saving the idea with a quickie title. Some are lighthearted like “how to be a good hostess to a pampered pooch.” Others are informative (based on my opinion): “5 things not to miss in Sarasota, Florida.” Others are deeper: “how to help a friend when their child is hospitalized.”
And many things I want to write about are still too painful to even put the title in draft.
I wrote a love letter to a hot dog. It was a really good hot dog. But I wrote that post because I can’t access the stuff I really want to write about.
I’m hoping admitting I’m stuck will shake up this writer’s block, shake up my emotional overload so processing my life can start coming out in little black letters on my screen again.
Thank you for sticking with me. I promise, I have so much to say. I am here.
