The Writer Who Lost Her Words

A story of losing heart, defining titles, and moving forward with confidence.

In the last weeks of December, I closed the doors on a business I had been putting my heart and soul into for almost four years to become “a writer.”

The concept of writing wasn’t new to me. Through that business, I wrote almost 800 social media posts, several blogs, and published articles. It brought back into view a part of myself I forgot existed— but most of all, it made me happy, like really happy. It wasn’t just this hobby I had suddenly picked up. It was me settling into who I was made to be. It was a familiar feeling that I could trace back to junior high; me, an awkward preteen writing metaphorical poetry that was way too deep for the subject matter at the time (cute boys, obviously).

So, when I decided to close my business to pursue writing full-time, it didn’t feel like a risk; it felt like the natural, God-given next step. There was no doubt in my mind that this was what I was meant to do. I was going to be “a writer”—finally.

But after assuming my new title, there was nothing. The words I was able to get down on paper suddenly weren’t good enough, at least not compared to all of the *actual* writers I started following on social media. The constant flood of ideas slowed to a barely-there trickle.

I tried to tell myself it was just a little writer’s block—totally normal, right? But instead of working my way through it, I found myself spending more time on Instagram reading others’ work. I was amazed how this writer could lace together sentences so beautifully while another could convey the perfect tone. I admired how that writer could take a simple idea and make it incredibly profound while another could use words like a parabolic paintbrush.

I used to write like that before I was “a writer.” Inspired by these remarkable authors, I decided to try again. For hours, my hands danced the keyboard tango, leading with a semi-coherent sentence, followed by the rhythmic tapping of the backspace key. My ideas were gone, and my words had all but left me. I was devastated. Had my gift been taken away? (I see you Luisa in Encanto) But seriously, what changed?

My title. I was no longer a business owner who wrote; I was now a writer. And the more I said it, the less I believed it.

I had all of these preconceived notions on what it meant to be a writer—and being that I was an official, certified, real-life one now— I had to live up to them. I’m talking soulful sentences, artfully strung together to create the perfect post every single time. Nothing less would do.

So, nothing it remained. 

Maybe you’re a wife, mother, sister, or friend. Perhaps you’re a business owner, cake decorator, fitness instructor, content creator, real estate agent, or teacher. I would venture to guess you hold at least half a dozen titles close to your heart and that sometimes you don’t feel like you’re living up to them. We all do it, don’t we? Fall short of our titles, the ones we’ve created an ever-evolving list of credentials for. One minute we’re good enough; the next, we’re not even close.

How many times have you felt less-than as a wife? As a mom? As a (fill in the blank)? Was it self-inflicted? I’m learning it almost always is. When we mix our own weighted expectations with the constant comparison of social media, it’s a one-way ticket to Never Good Enough, population: You.

Tell me if this sounds familiar: You finally tackled that mountain of laundry that had been sitting in the corner of the living room for a week(s). You made a dent in the dishes from last night’s dinner and even managed to read the kids a few extra bedtime stories on top of all your other mom duties. You sink into the couch and let out a deep sigh of relief. You’re feeling accomplished like you’ve got this whole mom thing down… that is, until you get out your phone and start scrolling.

You’re bombarded with picture-perfect images:  A mom with a baby on her back, hiking through the most whimsical woodlands—“Fresh air is good for the soul,” the caption reads. A bird’s eye view photo of a mom and her two littles playing with wooden toys on a beautiful boho rug hashtagged ‘be more present.’ A Pinterest-worthy toddler plate with grilled chicken and a colorful array of veggies captioned “Her favorite dinner! #eattherainbow”.

Ugh. You begin to recount your day, but it no longer looks the same. You didn’t get outside at all today. In fact, the kids hardly left the living room, except for that one time to get their iPads. Nice job. Sure, you managed a couple of bedtime stories, but did you play with them at all today? Wow. Maybe you need to start focusing less on the house and more on the humans. Can you tell me the last time your kids ate chicken that wasn’t in the shape of a dinosaur? Do they even know what broccoli is? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Now, you’re no longer living up to your title as “mom”. Suddenly the credentials to be a good mother now include hiking the Redwoods, hours of uninterrupted Montessori-style play, and spinach. Success to failure in five minutes flat. 

What?!

I can’t help but laugh as I write this. It seems so ridiculous, right? But we do it—we do it ALL. THE. TIME. And yes, social media shoulders some of the blame—but let’s be honest, there’s nothing inherently wrong with those posts. At the end of the day, our insecurities are the gasoline. Social media is just the match.

What does being a mom, a wife, a business owner, a real estate agent, a photographer look like for you? Not for her— for YOU. It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, defining my credentials as a writer. For me, being a writer means processing my life through my words. It means listening for whispers instead of scheduling social media posts. It means being a light in a darkening world. It means growing slowly and with purpose. It means being vulnerable so others don’t feel so alone. It means staying present to my family, my muse.

I’ve defined my title, and because no one has the same credentials, I can’t be an active participant in the comparison game. I’m a writer, as defined by me. I’m a mother, as defined by me. I’m a wife, as defined by me. The gasoline evaporates, the match goes up in smoke. Or at least, that’s the theory.

This is usually the part where I’d throw in a little dose of toxic positivity, maybe a quote or podcast recommendation or something— but I’m still figuring it out for myself… Plus, I should probably start doing less of that in general. I guess I just wanted you to know that I’m struggling with something I’m supposed to be “good at.” But my gosh, aren’t we all?

Well, hey, look at that. You’re nearing the end of a 1,200-word blog post… I think I might be on to something after all. 

Sincerely,

A Writer

Are you ready to define your title? Make a concrete list of your credentials— ones that come from your heart, not the world. And remember, you were made for this role! If you’re feeling stuck, my blog post Recognizing Resistance and Saying Yes might be able to help!