When You Don’t Feel Like Writing
This season has felt heavy in my body.
Not dramatic. Not chaotic. Just weighty.
The kind of weight that settles in your chest and makes even the things you love feel harder.
In my younger, more legalistic years, I had mastered the art of stuffing my emotions so deep into my psyche that I was almost immune to them.
In my healthier, post-therapy years, I’ve made it my life’s work not to do that.
The tradeoff? I actually feel things now.
Which means when life-altering situations are happening around me and to people I love deeply, I don’t bypass it. I sit with it. I follow the threads. I let the soul-level shaking surface instead of shoving it back down.
And it affects my ability to create.
Some days, I don’t feel like writing.
If you’ve been an author for more than a minute, you’ve experienced the ebb and flow.
Things are going swimmingly one moment.
Then life happens.
Before you can blink, you’re shouldering burdens you didn’t ask for, navigating trauma you don’t have a degree for, and attempting to keep all your plates spinning like you’re fine.
It’s sobering.
And exhausting.
If you haven’t hit a wilderness season yet, thank God for the calm. And build resilience for what will eventually come. Not because you’re doomed — but because you’re human.
Life gets messy. And deadlines do not care about the wilderness.
So if you’re in one of those seasons — here’s what’s helping me stay steady enough to keep moving.
Listen to What Your Body Is Saying
We’ve been trained to override our nervous systems.
Push through.
Power on.
Be productive.
But trying to create while you’re dysregulated — triggered, anxious, overwhelmed — is nearly impossible. The body cannot stay in fight-or-flight when the breath slows. It just can’t.
When I feel my heart rate rising or my thoughts spiraling, I stop and take five slow, five-second breaths in and out.
It’s simple.
But it works.
Sometimes the most productive thing you can do for your writing is regulate your body first.
Go on a walk without your phone.
Eat lunch with a friend.
Take a nap.
Read for fun.
Bake something.
Tend to your nervous system instead of demanding performance from it.
Rest Without Apology
I know my brain and body need rest. I tell other people that all the time.
I’m just slower to extend that grace to myself.
I used to create milestones before I’d “allow” myself to rest. Finish this paragraph. Hit this word count. Send this email.
As if rest were a reward instead of a rhythm.
I’m learning to sit down with a book without earning it first. To step away without justification. To rest without apology.
Sometimes obedience looks like stopping.
Control Your Controllables
This one is daily work.
I cannot logic or love anyone into changing.
I cannot fix what is not mine to fix.
I am responsible for my responses — not everyone else’s behavior.
That realization is both freeing and uncomfortable.
I choose how long I let my thoughts spiral.
I choose what I do with the emotions once they rise.
I choose whether I carry something that was never assigned to me.
And sometimes the most faithful choice is to put it down.
Discern God’s Voice (Not Just Your Anxiety)
I like solving problems. I like analyzing motivations, emotions, patterns.
But often God is not asking me to solve anything. He’s inviting me into trust.
It’s easier to obsess than to listen.
Easier to analyze than to sit.
Easier to worry than to wait.
But when I slow down enough to hear clearly, I’m often reminded of the same thing:
Not everything heavy is yours to carry.
While we are called to love our neighbors as ourselves, we are not called to debilitating stress for them.
God does not require that.
Recently, I shared with my writing group about a burden that has been quietly paralyzing me.
A wise friend gently reminded me:
“You don’t have to carry what isn’t yours.”
She was right.
Sometimes the most faithful thing you can do is set something down.
Sometimes writing can wait.
Sometimes the wilderness is not a detour — it’s a recalibration.
If you’re in a heavy season and the words feel stuck, you’re not broken.
You’re human.
And humans were never meant to live in constant production mode.
Reflection Questions
What is currently weighing on you that may not actually be yours to carry?
How does your body signal when you’re overwhelmed?
When was the last time you rested without earning it?
What would it look like to honor this season instead of fighting it?
If writing feels hard right now, what might your nervous system be asking for?
Sit with those. Don’t rush them.
A Gentle Next Step
If you’re navigating a season like this and don’t want to do it alone, I host a weekly writing space where we show up honestly — not perfectly. Some days we write a lot. Some days we just breathe and put one sentence down.
You don’t have to muscle your way through the wilderness.
And if you’d rather move quietly on your own for now? That’s okay too.
Just don’t confuse heaviness with failure.
I write in two spaces. A Seat at the Table is where I explore faith, healing, and making room for honesty after it’s been made complicated. Ink & Intention is for writers who want to show up with clarity, discernment, and integrity—especially online.
I’m also the author of Breathing Again and several guided journals, and I work with writers who want thoughtful, grounded support as they find their voice and shape what comes next.
If something here resonated, you’re welcome to explore more at your own pace. You can find everything in one place here.
If you are looking for a community to walk with you through this author journey, check out The Visible Author. Our heart is simple—we want writers to feel less alone in this process.
The Grounded Writer Retreat: Kim and I are hosting a retreat at the end of April, and we have one spot left! It’s April 30th-May 2nd in Sevierville, TN. The cost is $597, and all you need to do is get yourself there! We’ll do the rest. You can check out the details here!
