So I got writers’ block again this month

 if you're thinking that someone who runs a course on overcoming creative blocks doesn't get blocked anymore: you'd be wrong. 🙃

I hadn't experienced this a while, but I knew it would inevitably happen again at some point. And in the middle of one of my morning writing session on Wednesday, I had to admit to myself: I was stuck. 

I didn't want to write my book. 

I was bursting with resistance.

In the past, I would have let that emotion take over. Then I'd start feeling guilt that I wasn't writing, then I'd feel shame about that -- my emotions looping with no solid ground in sight. Eventually, I'd abandon writing altogether, convinced that "proper" writers didn't get stuck the way I did, and maybe I shouldn't be writing after all.

But the emotions lurking under the iceberg of my writer's block were real and big and tough. And for a long time, I didn't have a clue how to even begin to untangle them.

Things are different now that I've done so much healing - personally and creatively. I slow down. I get curious about my experience. I make space for the negative voices - not because I believe them, but because I know that they always have something to say that I need to hear.

So after softening towards the hurricane of resistance brewing inside my chest this week, one thing became abundantly clear:

I was scared to keep writing.

Here's what I wrote in my diary:

I’m entering the parts of my story where some of my past trauma plays out through the narrative, and I know that's going to be harder for me to write. I think maybe there are parts of me that don't want to retread those grounds.

Also - the closer I am to finishing the book, the closer other scary things get. Like trying to sell it. And knowing it might not. And my brain keeps getting caught up in the outcome.

But I guess writing all of this is also an opportunity to process everything that happened and to heal some more. And maybe even, to forgive myself for whatever I feel like I need to forgive myself for. Even though I know I haven't done anything wrong.

Which really means I need to love myself harder through the telling and retelling of my story.

My book is a love story to myself. To 29-year-old me who woke up crying on her 30th birthday, who knew something was wrong even though she didn't know what, and who bravely embarked on a journey into the unknown to find herself.

I have healed all the fucking way since. And that is SO FUCKING BRAVE.

I did all this. With my courage, my love, my vulnerability, and my determination that there had to be a better way. A different way. A way where I felt free of the weight of one thousand reasons why I didn’t belong, and all the reasons why I felt like I'd never find my place in this world.

This book is a love letter to my bravery. To daring greatly. 

It’s about the bravery of showing up for myself and changing my whole life for the better in the process.

And guess what? 

One day after writing this diary entry, I started writing my book again.

I sat at my desk bursting with love for this version of myself that was so fucking brave and that paved the way for the life I lead now. It made it so easy to write the scenes I was daunted by.

I also leant into Stevie, the gorgeous cat I am sitting this month in Hampstead, and let the soft rumbling sound of his purring regulate me. Stevie lives in the moment - and being next to him helps me come back into my body, too.

So I guess my point is this: the softer I am with myself, the more connected I am to all the emotions that fuel my creativity.

If you're curious to learn about this process for yourself, feel free to check out the details for my next Creative Blocks course below.

With love and big feelings, always,

Laurie xx