Writer’s Block

I am struggling to write. I am struggling to find the words to allow my thoughts and emotions flow. When I hit a writer’s block, my therapist always encourages me to write about the “block.” I always just shrugged it off though, not really giving it too much thought. I always figured it would just come back on it’s own, which it usually does. So why do I need to write about it?

I mentioned my writers block to a new fellow blogger, she too said, “write about the block.” I rolled my eyes and instantly, I thought of my therapist and how she always seems to creep her way into my life without her even trying. I didn’t want to admit it, but they are both right.

Last Sunday, when I sat down, all bundled up and cozy, with a cup of tea at hand, I thought about what to write, which should have been a sign. I usually don’t need to “think,” I just do. But then I thought some more… nothing. Not a single word came out. How could I have so many ideas, yet have no idea how to write it? I began to get frustrated with myself, so I thought harder. Still, nothing. Maybe I was putting too much pressure on myself to make sure my next post was a “good enough,” or maybe I was allowing my Protector to overtake and force me to shut down. Honestly, I think it was a little bit of both.

So here it is:

I am having a writer’s block because I am caring too much about what others think. I am caring too much about being judged, if I say something “wrong,” and how others will perceives  me. I am having a writer’s block because I am struggling to open my heart to Jesus to allow him to freely take my pain and turn it into beauty. When I don’t allow Him in, I shut down. I am having a writer’s block because I am afraid my past will become my future again.

So there you have it. A writer’s block can happen at anytime.  They happen because my anxiety overtakes and buries me deeps. But!! The fact that I am able to write about the block is huge! That means, hope  is shinning through. So no matter how hard it is for me to get my hands on the piano keys, the strings on my guitar, and the notes out of my lungs (more on all that later), or a pen to a piece of paper, I will continue to try and breathe. These are what make me happy. When my heart is focused on Jesus, everything just fits.

I will not listen when they say not to write and to share my journey on living with hope. It is not just about me. It is for the one struggling to make it through the day. It is for the one losing hope – in hopes that my writing may restore a glimmer of that hope. It is for the one who continues to hold me in His arms time and time again.

These are the gifts God gave me.

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