am in one of those writer’s blocks, but more like a life block. a vitality block. feeling like a hunk of lead.
i’ve been feeling so lost lately. have been asking my dreams for guidance. the other night, a message from my dream was: write, and share your writing, and keep doing it. over. and over. and over. there are zero stakes for writing & sharing something that sucks. there is room for your shitty writing. there is space for your voice even when you’ve got nothing to say. (white men know this very well). if it’s not even remotely valuable, original, insightful, important, still say it. maybe no one will hear it. maybe someone will read it and judge you harshly. keep. doing. it.
it’s funny how, even with the knowledge that I am anonymous here, knowing that I have an audience is freezing me up. like, oh god! someone’s gonna see this and laugh at me and confirm all of my insecurities!
ah, this is a good practice for me. to dismantle this ornate self-constructed mental prison, I must move through it, understand it, feel it… do the things that scare me…
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