The Light You Already Carry
A few years ago, I hit what I thought was a creative wall.
I had ideas—so many of them, scribbled in notebooks, typed in my phone, floating around in the back of my mind—but every time I tried to bring them into form, something stalled. I’d open a blank document, stare at it, and close it five minutes later. I’d start an Instagram caption and delete it halfway through. Even the fun stuff felt like work.
At first, I blamed burnout. Then impostor syndrome. Then I told myself I was just being lazy.
But the truth was quieter than that. It wasn’t that I had nothing to say. It was that I didn’t feel safe saying it.
The Invisible Pressure to Perform
When you’re a creative person—especially one who shares their work publicly—there’s an invisible current you start to notice. A push toward performance. Productivity. Polished perfection.
Post more. Share more. Do more.
Be visible. Be strategic. Be impressive.
Even when no one’s directly saying those things, they hum underneath everything like background static. And at some point, if you’re not careful, that hum becomes your internal monologue. Even when no one’s directly saying those things, they hum underneath everything like background static. And at some point, if you’re not careful, that hum becomes your internal monologue. Even when no one’s directly saying those things, they hum underneath
everything like background static. And at some point, if you’re not careful, that hum becomes your internal monologue.
That’s what had happened to me.
I’d started second-guessing everything I made before I’d even made it. I wasn’t listening to my creative impulses—I was measuring them, editing them, trying to make sure they’d “land” before I gave myself permission to follow them. My creativity hadn’t dried up.
It had gone underground. Not because it was gone, but because I wasn’t giving it space to just be.
Your Light Doesn’t Need Proof
I remember talking with a friend during that time. I told her I felt like I was losing my voice. That I needed to “find my light again.”
She paused, and then said something I’ll never forget:
“What if your light was never lost? What if it’s just tired of being asked to prove itself?”
That hit me hard. Because she was right.
My light—the part of me that wants to create, express, share, and connect—hadn’t disappeared. It was just buried under pressure. Under the assumption that I had to earn my worth through constant doing. The truth I’ve come back to, again and again, is this:
Your light doesn’t burn brighter the more you hustle. And it doesn’t dim just because you take a break.
It just is.
Like the sun behind the clouds. Like a candle flickering in the dark. Your light doesn’t disappear. It waits.
Getting Stuck Isn’t the Problem
If you’ve been feeling creatively blocked, here’s what I want to offer:
That “stuck” feeling you’re wrestling with? It might not be a creative issue at all. It might be your nervous system asking for a moment. A breath. A break from the pressure to perform. Most of the time, creative ruts aren’t about a lack of ideas. They’re about fear. Fear of being judged. Fear of wasting time. Fear of getting it wrong. Fear of not being enough. And when your system feels that fear—even subconsciously—it tries to protect you. By stalling. By numbing. By retreating.
That’s not failure.
It’s information.
The Power of Quiet Wins
What helped me climb out of that stuck place wasn’t a sudden bolt of inspiration or a perfect productivity system. It was small, honest things. Quiet wins.
Things like:
Writing one messy page and not deleting it.
Creating something with no plan to share it.
Going outside without my phone and letting my thoughts wander.
Reminding myself: I don’t have to be visible to be valuable.
These weren’t things I could post about or turn into content. But they mattered. Because they rebuilt something I hadn’t realized I’d lost—trust.
Trust in my voice. Trust in my ideas. Trust in the slower, less glamorous parts of the creative process.
You’re Not Behind. You’re Reconnecting.
We live in a world that loves fast progress and public results. But real creativity—the kind that lasts—isn’t built that way. It’s built in quiet moments. Gentle choices. The permission to show up imperfectly and still believe in your voice. If you’re in a slow season right now, let me say this clearly: You’re not broken. You’re not falling behind. You’re reconnecting. And sometimes, reconnecting requires stillness. Sometimes, it means pausing long enough to notice: your light is still here.
It never left. You don’t need to hustle to find it. You just need to stop dimming it.
Start with this question:
“Where am I still waiting for permission to shine?”
Whatever answer comes up, honor it. It’s not weakness. It’s gold.
And if it takes time, that’s okay too. Your light knows the way back.
