Sometimes, I go through a writing slump.
It often starts small—a day or two of feeling unmotivated to write anything, of opening my drafts without typing anything new. But when I do fall into these slumps, I often fall deep.
Even when I feel the outpouring of thoughts within me, a part of me doesn’t want to write about them as often as I’d like. And so I go through experiencing one moment after another until my brain feels cramped with all the experiences as if it would burst.
Without the relief of putting my thoughts into words, the lack of solitude, or at least thinking while writing, leads me from one poor judgment to the next: overconsumption of irrelevant media, lethargy, and alas, brain fog. I have become a passive consumer instead of an active creator which feels like a sin against my calling.
I’ve been through this cycle before, and my lack of self-discipline keeps me going through this forsaken path again and again.
But today was different. The thing that prompted me to share my thoughts here today was writing in my journal by hand. Writing with a pen enabled my brain to focus and provided me with a sense of relief from the overstimulation that I had subjected myself to. The cramped thoughts finally had somewhere to go, giving me a sense of release.
Now I remember why I write.
I write to breathe.
jessa 