I’ve been making an effort to write more, whether through creative story writing, memoir-style reflections, journaling my days, or putting words to lyrics and poems. It’s something I’ve been wanting to prioritize because there’s a part of me that craves self-expression through writing, even when it’s challenging. But I’ve been struggling with a creative block that feels hard to shake. It’s like there’s a wall between me and the words I want to get out, and no matter how hard I push, it doesn’t budge. Some days, I sit with a pen in hand or in front of my laptop, wanting to get something down—anything—but the ideas seem to slip away the second I try to grab them.
Recently, I had a co-writing session, and it brought some of these feelings to the surface. In the session, I decided to explore some of the more difficult things I’ve experienced in my life. When one of my co-writers asked me what had been going on in my life lately, it felt like a vulnerable moment. We were there to write, to create something real, but it’s never easy to let someone else see the raw parts of you, especially someone who might not know your whole story. I felt this urge to hold back, to stick to surface-level topics, maybe talk about something easier or less personal. But I also knew that if I wanted to create something meaningful, I’d need to lean into the discomfort.
At first, I struggled with what to say. I could feel my mind running through all these thoughts, deciding what was “safe” to share and what felt too close to the heart. After some hesitation though, I decided to go for it. I shared parts of the trauma I’ve been through—the things that still affect me today, even if I don’t always show it on the outside. And as I started to open up, I could feel a shift. Putting these experiences into words wasn’t easy; it felt like I was lifting a weight I didn’t even realize I’d been carrying. But it also felt freeing in a way, like I was finally giving myself permission to acknowledge those parts of myself.
The experience made me realize just how powerful vulnerability can be, especially in art. There’s something deeply cathartic about bringing your pain into the light, even when it’s uncomfortable. Writing about difficult experiences forces you to face them head-on, but it also offers a chance to transform them into something meaningful. In that session, I saw how opening up can lead to more honest art. It’s almost as if sharing the things we’re most afraid to say out loud brings us closer to others—and to ourselves.
Since that co-write, I’ve been reflecting on why writing, especially personal writing, matters to me. Sometimes, I feel this pressure to be “perfect” on the page, to craft something that flows beautifully from the start. But I’m learning that it’s okay if my writing feels messy or incomplete. Creative blocks are frustrating, but they also remind me that the process of creating—of just trying to get words out, no matter how they come—is its own kind of growth. It’s about giving yourself grace in the moments when the words don’t come easily and recognizing that, over time, those small steps build up into something real.
I know I’ll probably keep running into creative blocks, and I’ll still have moments where I doubt what I’m trying to express. But I’m finding that writing about my experiences, even when it’s difficult, is worth it. It’s a way of processing life, of acknowledging the good and the hard, and of embracing my own story—even the parts I’m tempted to keep hidden. And maybe that’s the most important thing I can do as a writer: to keep showing up, to keep trying, and to trust that, in time, the words will come.
