the weight of not writing

01 Aug, 2025

my heart is heavy - so heavy i can feel my chest buckling under its weight.

it is odd that i can't pinpoint where exactly this heaviness, this sadness stems from.

admittedly, most things on a general level are fine. in fact, i'm incredibly lucky, grateful. when i was younger, i was quite pessimistic and while i carried hope in my heart (albeit tucked away in a secret crevice which was also behind a locked door), i was uncertain i would make it past my 20s.

well - oorah, little girl Nadine, you're making way into your 30s. you did it. or we did it?

though i feel i barely made it here through the blessings and generosities of others, despite my tendency to cut my own nose to spite it, to burn a bridge hastily - sometimes deserved and sometimes out of abundant caution - we chug along.

so where is the source of this heaviness coming from? i can only imagine it is coming from the lack of creating - the lack of purely writing for my own sense of expression and thrill.

i crave and desire the whimsy, the lounging in an oversized, comfy chair, writing and reading away. i so admire the creations of authors and artists, their words and art. how magnificent it seems, them committing their life with daily diligence toward their creative practices.

and perhaps the weight becomes even heavier when i realize there is nothing stopping me from joining the party of living creatively.

i felt like a writer, even when i was simply daily blogging without a direction. no standard of quality or pressure, just letting the words mosh pit onto the blank page, like throwing paint at an empty canvas.

my daily blogging challenge had me feeling most purposeful - it was such a long time since i felt so filled with rush and delight at the thought of writing.

i would be lying if some of the daily blogging was out of pure determination, some posts were very minimal, but it was never about length or time invested in one post, really.

it was the repetitive act - the sake of doing the thing - that brought great satisfaction. it was the marking of words that signaled the habit of a writer. if i wrote everyday, i must be one, i mused.

and while i have succumbed to the need of tending services that would generate an exchange of monies (that is regrettably, not through the written word), i consider myself still lucky.

it is through the spoken word which becomes my most effective tool, for i have the uncanny sensing ability¹ to wander toward the right places, to interest the right ears, to then soothe troubled thoughts through conversation.

but it is also dawning on me that my written word informs my spoken word. enhances my spoken word. the clearer i am in articulation in one or the other, the more i improve and walk towards my dreamy, creative life.

so i must write and write feverishly again.

while i hesitate in committing to daily blogging again, i know it will do me some good to write publicly² with frequency.

i guess we'll return tomorrow and see what happens.

and just like that, my heaviness has become lighter already.

thanks for being here.

sincerely,

nadine ♥