How could something that brings us so much joy cause such heartache? I never thought writing could break my heart—until it did.

Around July, I hit a stumbling block in my writing. It’s still there, though much better now. It’s interesting how one experience, completely unrelated to another, can ripple through and affect everything else.

Midyear, I had a bitter life lesson moment, and writing suddenly became hard—almost unbearable.  It wasn’t writer’s block. No. I had so many ideas. I wanted to write about my experiences, but it felt like a scene out of a horror movie. The thought of it caused a literal ache in my chest and physical pain. I know it sounds strange, but it’s true. The easiest relief was to sleep it off, so I numbed myself with sleep aids.

Writing—the very thing that had always been my comfort and therapy—started to hurt. My chest tightened at the thought of it. I dreaded writing, yet I still wanted to.

So many projects were left unfinished. My ideas lingered, untouched. Writing had always been my safe space, but now, it felt heavy—like something to avoid.

An expert I spoke to suggested journaling. At first, I resisted. Journaling felt like taking a bitter pill or undergoing a procedure I wanted to avoid—necessary, but daunting. Writing down the things I wanted to avoid unpacking was overwhelming.

I had to set aside specific times to journal because it felt so daunting. My words were heavy, and I was scared of seeing them laid bare on the page. But I pushed through. Slowly, journaling began to loosen the tightness in my chest.

Sometimes, I’d share a page or two with a trusted person, letting them into my vulnerable space. I wrote without expectations—just for myself. And little by little, I found that writing this way empowered me.

Gradually, I started coming back to myself. Writing and I were finally starting to reconcile. This was a journey of healing for me. It  was slow and messy. There were the highs and the lows. I had to be patient, and I had to give myself grace.