Monday, January 20, 2014

a different kind of writer's block

I put a lot of pressure on myself as a writer.  

I tell myself that I should write at least three times a week {if not more}.  I should have something valuable to say when I write and there should be some grand conclusion to my ramblings that makes the whole piece worth the effort of writing it. 

Everyone knows that the word should can be a really dangerous word that has the power to breed a deadly-kind-of-perfectionism. 

But lately, I've been seeing more than ever that there are times when the words just don't fit nicely in a blog post on this page.  

These days, I haven't done much writing at all.  Some might say that I have been out there living, too busy to snap a photograph or to think of any deep, reflective meanings for the experiences I am having.  If you ask me, I will tell you that the well has all-but-dried-up.  There have been few words, or feelings, or teachable moments that I have wanted to share.  Sometimes, that's just how it is, and we go with it -- we embrace the solitude and the silence and we try to heal.

I've been here before, stuck in this different-kind-of-writer's-block where the words come, but they are scattered like paint that has been angrily thrust onto a blank, white canvas.  Their colors are splattered everywhere in no specific arrangement or order and they make little sense to outside eyes looking in.

These are the broken-hearted words of a childless mother.  Words like loss and hate and without and I'm not sure what I believe anymore, thrust out of my heart and onto a page for the world to read and hear and contemplate.  They are not always pretty and faith-filled and sometimes, they offend.  Thankfully, I know better than to share them all.  

I have gotten a lot of questions lately about how I'm doing after our most recent miscarriage.  A lot has happened over the past month, things I hope to be able to share about in the days ahead. 

But for now, I'm not ready to try to put beautiful, meaningful words to what I'm experiencing.  There are parts of this grief process that are really ugly.  Parts I just don't want to share.  

But I know as well as you do that these broken-hearted feelings, they are mine to wrestle with.  These labels I now bear, they are mine to reckon with.  These words that are both ugly and beautiful at the very same time, they cannot be prayed away.

They are my broken-hearted words that will be thrust from my heart and onto a page in due time 

because I am writer, 

because this is how healing comes, 

because "this is my grief, and I must bear it" {jeremiah 10:19}.

>> until next time <<

~ me


  1. Fellow writer/author here. Came across your blog. Love your honesty and your writing style, and I more than understand the seasons of writers block. Especially the ones that are not due to sudden loss of vocabulary, but are the result of life's heavy hitting blows. Words come out, sure, but only you understand how they are connected in those moments. And only you are supposed to. Thanks again for your vulnerability and faith.
    -Ashley M. Gorman,

  2. Thank you, Ash. I so appreciate your words and have been following your blog here and there too. Writing is a tough job, but I'm thankful for the outlet, even if the words don't make sense sometimes. Best to you and thanks again!