Honoring the Creative Pause
Spring is my favorite season—ripe with a fresh sense of rebirth, dripping with curiosity, momentum, and growth. It’s when I do my best planning, set intentions, and look ahead with excitement.
But the shift from winter to spring is always hard for me. Transitions often are tough (for most of us, I think), but this one has felt especially rough. Anyone else feeling it? ✋
Maybe it’s age. Maybe it’s the steady hum of doom-laden headlines that greet us at every turn. Whatever the reason, that usual springtime energy is arriving more like a trickle than a rush this year and, just yesterday, left me feeling stuck.
I’m somewhat of an expert at feeling stuck—and I’ve built a toolkit of habits to help unstick myself (some of which I shared in a previous essay). But even after doing all the things, I still felt... blah.
No fresh ideas waiting to emerge. No rush of clarity. Just stillness—and the faint ache of wondering where my creative energy had gone.
Has that ever happened to you?
For someone who’s built her life around words, stories, movement, and helping others awaken their own expression, that silence can feel unsettling. Disorienting, even.
We live our lives floating in waves of motivation and, as much as I’d like to be able to control those tides, I’ve learned to release the illusion of control. To surrender, instead, to the wildness of life—messy, mysterious, and deeply human.
The Myth of Constant Inspiration
We live in a culture that worships productivity. We measure our worth in output: how many words, how many likes, how many finished projects.
Don’t get me wrong—I love my routines and checklists. But you can’t checklist your way into inspiration. Creativity doesn’t run on a clock. It lives in the body. In our rhythms. In our inner seasons.
Sometimes we bloom fast and bright, like spring beauties after the first warm rain. And sometimes, we go fallow. Not because we’re failing—but because we’re replenishing. Because something inside us is asking for stillness before the next surge of growth.
I’ve had seasons where creativity poured out of me—essays, workshops, big ideas. And others where I couldn’t write a single sentence that felt true. I’ve learned that resisting the quiet only deepens the block. But if I soften, listen, and stay curious—something always returns.
Not the same spark.
A deeper one.
An Invitation: Listen to the Quiet
If you’ve felt creatively stuck, numb, or like your spark slipped out the back door when you weren’t looking—you’re not alone.
And you’re not broken.
Creative lulls aren’t detours. They’re part of the path. Sacred in their own right.
So instead of pushing through, what if you softened into the pause?
A Practice for the Pause
Try this today. Just ten minutes.
Go outside and find a quiet place to sit.
Take three deep breaths.
Tap into your senses. Ask:
What do I see?
What do I hear?
What do I smell?
What can I feel?
What do I notice in this moment?
Don’t force anything. Just listen.
Later, if it feels right, write about it. Or don’t.
The practice is the point.
A Spark Rekindling
I’ve been working on something rooted in all of this—a soulful offering to help you return to your own wild, creative rhythm.
It’s not quite ready to share, but it’s coming soon: a five-day, free, gently guided experience to help you reconnect with your voice, your body, and the part of you that still believes in possibility.
But for now, I hope you’ll honor the quiet within you. Trust it.
There is life stirring there—even now.
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