I had stretched just before sitting down to write. My body was feeling loose and good. I had so many ideas bopping around in my brain over the past few days, and I was genuinely excited to see what unfolded.

I sat down to write and then the fog settled right on top of my brain, making me sleepy and erasing every idea I’d had. They disappeared as if they’d never been. And in the empty space where inspiration had lived just days before, doubt arrived.

Why was I doing this? What if I can’t come up with something? What if it’s all pointless?

If you’ve ever sat down to create — write, paint, build, record, make — and had that exact sequence happen to you, I hope my words of what I’ve come to understand about it help inspire clarity for you.

Those questions aren’t your intuition. They aren’t who you are. They are scared. And they’re doing exactly what they were built to do.

Why Creative Blocks Are Rarely About Creativity

Here’s what I’ve learned: creative blocks almost never have anything to do with your actual creative capacity. They’re usually about visibility.
When we share our vulnerabilities, our creativity, our spirituality, the soft aspects of ourselves — other parts of us get terrified about the ramifications. The doubt and the fog? They’re not obstacles. They’re protection.

My body and nervous system are still unlearning that existing small equals safe. That’s a carry-over from childhood and, I believe, from lifetimes before this one.

Because this knowing — that being seen is dangerous — isn’t new. It’s ancient.

I know that I’ve died many times for speaking my truth in past lives. As a mystic, as a witch, as a leader. Time and time again, I experienced death at the hands of those who feared my authentic being. And in this lifetime, I brought all of those fears into a childhood that added to them.

So when I sit down to write something true and real and mine, and the fog comes? That’s not a creative problem. That’s my nervous system doing its oldest job — keeping me invisible so I stay safe.

The thing is, I’m not in danger anymore. And maybe you aren’t either.

The Transition Happening Underneath

I’ve been more tired than usual lately. I fall asleep quickly and wake up still tired eight hours later. I’ve been taking naps, something I didn’t used to allow myself to do.

I know this is part of a transition process — the ramp up to crossing a threshold, walking through it, the free fall, the reorganizing of your systems with the new information, and then the embodiment of it.

Our systems get upgraded every time we expand beyond where we’ve ever been. Every time we choose a new pattern. Each step we take along the path we’ve never walked before.

And some of our oldest patterns will work very hard to come back.

The creative block isn’t separate from the transition. It is the transition. The fog is the nervous system catching up to the choice you’ve already made. The doubt is the old pattern trying to regain its footing before the new one takes hold.

That doesn’t make it less uncomfortable. But it changes what it means.

Befriending the Word “Polarize”

I drew a card from The Sacred Creators deck this week that said: Befriend the word Polarize.

I laughed when I read it because that’s exactly what I’ve spent so much of my time not doing. I’ve pushed hard against the concept of polarizing people. Some of it stems from old co-dependency patterns. Some of it is my soul wanting to help as many people as possible — so the thought of polarizing some people means I might not be able to help them.

But I’ve learned through my own journey that we cannot help those who are not willing to accept what we’re offering. So why twist yourself into a version that’s palatable to people you have no desire to actually be like?

Not as a judgment — we’re all on our own journeys, learning different lessons. But I don’t shine brightest when I’m fighting against barriers that the people on the other side of have no desire to bring down.

That’s been a hard lesson for the healer in me. I can see people’s pain and I want to help. But if they aren’t willing to meet me halfway, I will only ever be pouring into a colander, never a cup that can hold what I’m offering.

And that’s okay. More than okay, actually. I don’t want to be everybody’s cup of tea. I want to help create a future that’s more equitable, more just, and more accepting — and that isn’t everyone’s desire. At my core, I’m perfectly okay disagreeing with them.

The surface fears want to think it’s the end of the world if someone disagrees with me. And yet I’ve survived arguments and people not liking me, and I’m still standing.

Showing Up Anyway

As I sat there in the fog, I made a decision: I was going to write anyway. Not because the fog lifted first. Not because the doubt quieted down. But through it.

And slowly, as I made that decision and kept making it, the fog started to dissipate. The normal energy began to rise again. The excitement to share myself with you. The hope that you’ll feel connected, inspired, a little less alone.

Resting and giving space to move through periods like this is not what our society teaches us to do. We’re taught to push through, produce more, optimize the resistance away. But some seasons require a different kind of devotion — a devotion to the process itself, not just the output.

I’m learning that showing up anyway doesn’t always mean producing something perfect or polished. Sometimes it means sitting in the fog long enough to find the thread. Sometimes it means writing a sentence that leads to another sentence that leads to the thing you didn’t know you needed to say.

The fog is not the end of the story. It’s usually closer to the beginning.

If You’re In Your Own Fog Right Now

If the doubt is loud and the ideas have gone quiet — that’s not a sign that you’re doing it wrong. That’s the pattern asking to be seen.

Write anyway. Rest anyway. Show up anyway.

The energy always rises again.