It Feels Like Writers Block

A couple of weeks ago I began to think I had writers block. The reason I thought this was because lately, every time I sit down to write, it feels like I have cobwebs in my head.

I keep working at my writing thinking I need to prime the pump since it has been a while since I have written a book or a blog. But, that hasn't been working. The cobwebs are still there and the feeling I have nothing to say, even though the well is full and running over, remains. But, beyond that, there is also the feeling that I can't think of what words to use to convey my thoughts.

In short, I am looking at how much doubt I have about myself and my capabilities. 

I have been going within and talking to my spirit and asking for clarity on what is going on, because I sense that this is deeper than writers block. I feel the weight of something "big" coming to the surface to be seen and acknowledged.

Finally, after sitting and communing with spirit and opening to insight, I see it. What is staring me in the face is FEAR and DOUBT.

Fear of not being enough, of not knowing enough, of looking and sounding like a fool, of being made fun of and laughed at. Fear of people not wanting to read what I write because my words are not interesting enough.. Fear of thinking I am something I am not, a writer.  Fear of not being seen or heard. 

I long to write and love to write and the words are right there when I either sit with a pen in my hand, ready to put to paper, or at my laptop. Then I freeze, my mind goes blank, and I can't think of anything to say.

How deep is the fear? What does the act of writing activate within me that clouds my thinking and makes me want to get up and run? This is big stuff and it opens me up to knowing I have some big, unresolved hurts and wounds to look at, embrace and heal. There is obviously still a lot of childhood issues and beliefs sitting in my psyche waiting for light to be shed on them.

Every time I think I have hit a landmark on my healing journey, I discover another layer of the onion to peel away. So, I keep paying attention and peeling and healing while being aware that the story of my life is right here with me, nudging and pulling at me, and I am at choice as to whether to see and acknowledge what is there, or ignore it and pretend all is okay.

There is still a big piece of the hurt and trauma that my little girl, adolescent, teenager and young woman continues to carry.

My mind still remembers being called foolish, bad, a dreamer and crazy.

My cells still remember feeling flawed and less then.

My muscles and bones still remember feeling like no matter what I did or how I did it, it was just not quite good enough to satisfy the adults in my life . 

I still remember the inept feeling of somehow knowing I would never be able to measure up to my brother or my cousins (the good ones, the ones I was measured against.)

As a result, I tend to question every word I write, every blog I post, every article I have published. Is it good enough for people to read? Will it be of interest to anyone? I SO love that my longing for consciousness and authenticity keeps showing me the hurt, misguided beliefs and wounds that are ready and waiting for the healing light.

In the midst of all of this awareness, I feel a deep sense of gratitude for my being conscious enough to spot my areas of unconsciousness. I am thankful that I am where I am on my path to recognize what is calling to me for attention and love.

Meanwhile, I keep writing, as I can and as I feel inspired to do. I need to do this as I continue to do my healing work..

I recognize that I care enough about myself and my healing journey to listen carefully to what my body and soul is telling me and showing me. I know I am walking my sacred purpose, which writing is a part of, and I thank you for reading my words. My longing is to make a difference as I contribute to humanity.