The memoir of my writer's block

August 14, 2019

Like every aspiring writers, I too have a head full of ideas. And like every aspiring writers, I do suffer from this all-too-familiar condition resembling constipation, but only in the mind.


My idea of what could be a great blog content is bottomless. From the mundane stuffs, like "The thing about making adult friendship", ''Why I am proud to be an introvert”, “My love language” to thought-provoking stuffs like "Enlightenment is found at home, not in a cave", "How money can help one's spiritual journey', 'What are you teaching your children when you let them go on strike'. To even touchy subject like "What kind of feminist are you? Either or" and "Is your mind made for sex?". 


Just to name a few. 


If only I don't have to type it all out. 


I have odds and sods to write not necessarily because I major these subjects (especially the latter two, ha-ha) but because somehow I feel compelled to share my two cents worth. My calling, perhaps.


Back to my mind-constipation story.


I've come to the realization that my writer's block is due to the fact that my mind and my heart are in enmity at my writing desk. My heart wants to share my sentiments on life but my mind is fearful of judgements. Like, oh my, my former client is writing about love and romance. Or, who does she think she is talking about enlightenment! Or here is a good one. My gosh, she is just a stay-at-home mother, what does she know about self-empowerment?


Okay I have to admit that I am exaggerating but the purpose is so you get the idea: that I have been fearful, doubtful and feeling small. The simple truth is that I have been feeling disconnected with my inner self. Moving country, starting new, isolation and dependency, motherhood: the whole shebangs did this to me - and other aspects of the inner working of my psychological well being that I keep to myself. 


Except for one: my miscarriage story; an exceptionally intimate detail about my private life and yet I shared it anyway - just as my way of coming to terms with my loss. It was my closure. My self-healing journey. A manifesto that my soul is toughening up yet I ain't bitter about life. My transformation, as I’d like to see it and hopefully by God's willing, this painful loss is the final plot of my metamorphosis episode and now I am fluttering to the next chapter; which is learning to fly again.


Or cutting, metaphorically. 




"A diamond is just a piece of charcoal that handled stress exceptionally well"




This isn't to imply that I am going to launch my new blogger persona by writing about my innermost thoughts and all things taboo. No, not yet. I intend the slow yet surely approach; firstly by being candid with my thoughts and writing, like what I am doing now, and that means breaking a dominant wall of fear. And secondly, by administering a writing routine which honestly can be quite tricky especially when dealing with a toddler but that brings us to the next point. To live creatively.


Sounds simple but there is a whole universe in itself if you ponder upon its meaning.


I hope that gets you thinking.

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