It was a season of writer’s block that no “tried and true” tip could cure. Only I could, and it was the most challenging four years of my life.
Let me preface this by saying that I’ve been writing professionally for more than 14 years. I thought myself impervious to writer’s block. Sure, there were encounters here and there, but I knew how to break through them. As a result, scribes’ age-old nemesis never really intimidated me.
Then came 2018. For the first time in my life, I found myself unable to put words down on paper. I didn't know what to do. I felt lost. I felt voiceless. It was the start of the hardest four years of my life thus far, and there wasn’t a single hack that could fix it.
I remember when it all started...
It was a Friday Night in February
I had just received the proof for my third book, Lost Prince of Nevaharday, and I was itching to crack it open. The anticipation for this novel exceeded my expectations. Special preorders sold out within less than 48 hours and plans for book signings were in the works. I thought nothing could shake me from my joyous peak.
Then the phone rang.
Your father is in the hospital.
They found a mass in his brain.
We don’t know what it is.
We don’t have any answers.
How quickly can you catch a flight home?
I narrowly caught a next-morning flight and spent several agonizing hours making my way to the hospital. The rest became a rollercoaster of emotions as my father went through brain surgery, a biopsy, and a devastating diagnosis.
He had an aggressive form of primary CNS lymphoma. The odds of surviving this cancer were grim, with a 5-year survival rate of 30%. He was immediately transitioned from the ICU to oncology, where he spent many, many months fighting for his life.
Somewhere in the midst of it all, I experienced an overwhelming cavern of grief, followed by some internal wall that dammed the flood of tears. It was too much, so I tucked those feelings down deep; deep into a hidden place where they could not find or break me.
Perhaps if my father’s diagnosis was all that had happened, I would have been okay. Despite the odds, my dad’s treatment worked. He survived cancer, and he is still in remission today. Maybe I would have weathered that frightening period and, when the good news came, I would have felt safe enough to exhale, feel what I was feeling, and move forward.
But that catastrophic family event was only the beginning.
Weeks after my father's diagnosis, the company I worked for eliminated my job without explanation - and without notice. I found myself creating a freelance business overnight to make ends meet, which I managed to do quite rapidly.
Then other hurdles arose. Over the next few months, unexpected changes caused my expenses to double. Still, I persevered. I'd always been capable of surviving whatever life threw my way. I thought I could handle it all.
A stroke of luck came my way when a reputable research company recruited me as a writer for their consumers, culture, and marketing research. The offer was too much to pass up. Great pay, great insurance, great benefits. Finally, life would feel stable again.
I accepted the opportunity, eager for the new chapter. But when I started the job, something felt off. I thought it was burnout. I’d been working incredibly hard running my own business while facing a lot of heavy personal challenges. Perhaps I needed a vacation. But it had to wait. I just started a new job. I needed to settle into it first.
Fast forward from January to December. It was New Years Eve when I received a phone call telling me that my grandmother had died. Something shifted inside of me. I started having heart palpitations. They would come on suddenly and with a fierceness I didn’t understand. Weeks went by and they grew steadily worse until it felt like I was having a heart attack 24/7. My chest was tight all the time and it felt like a fight just to breathe.
Eventually, I took myself to the hospital. They held me for 24-hour observation before handing me a diagnosis: severe anxiety. I was given medication while signing a paper confirming that I would look into therapy.
I did. Actually, I found an amazing therapist on the first try, and she worked closely with me to uncover and understand what I was experiencing, as well as find ways to cope with it and grow from it.
But it wasn’t an overnight cure. Throughout that process, I struggled to write at work. I spent many late nights in tears trying to create the content that I was paid to create only to hit one wall after another. Extracting each thought and putting it cohesively down on paper felt like enduring surgery without anesthesia. It was excruciatingly painful.
For a couple of years, I met regularly with my therapist. My mental health began to improve, but my voice remained elusive. This gift that had been a part of me since childhood had slipped out of my possession somehow.
I ended up applying for and getting promoted into management where I became responsible for hiring, training, and developing writers and editors. It was a necessary reprieve as I took a much-needed break from writing, and much-needed time to heal. But throughout that long process, the fear of never being able to write again haunted me.
I thought this passion and outlet I’d known and cherished for most of my life was gone.
What Does This Have to Do With Writer’s Block?
You may be thinking, “Elli, that’s not writer’s block. That’s a mental health crisis.” And yes… yes it was. But stick with me here. There is a writer’s lesson in all of this.
It wasn’t until this year that I found myself able to sink back into writing. I can’t overstate how incredible it was to find that voice again and to feel the magic that happens when you string the right words together. It’s exhilarating. Liberating!
Looking back, I now realize that silence was not the absence of something lost. It was a sign. Sometimes we may go through seasons where we can’t find the right words, no matter how desperately we try — and that’s okay.
Writer’s block isn’t a mysterious nemesis that creeps into the place where you hide your muse and takes it captive. It’s simply a blanket term for whatever is holding you back from putting words on the page.
Most of the time, the cause of your writer’s block is not as dramatic as the story I just told (I hope it never is). But it is always something.
Perhaps it’s a plot hole in your story or a noisy writing environment.
Maybe it’s a paralysis caused by fear, perfection, or an overly busy mind.
Or it could just be a sign that you need to walk away for a bit, clear your head, and indulge in something creative to get back into the right headspace.
Whatever it may be, you know the answer. It may take some introspection, but you can uncover what’s holding you back. When you realize that, the demon called Writer’s Block loses its strength. Because at the end of the day, it’s not an unseen force working against you. It’s just a signal that something is standing in the way of the words you’re trying to say.
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