I want to write so badly. I feel it deep in my bones. But sometimes, I find myself asking: if I want this so much, why am I not writing?
The truth is, writing—like anything worth doing—is hard. And life doesn’t make it any easier. I struggled with this for so long. It felt like I couldn’t write, but honestly, I just didn’t know how to write amid all of life’s stressors. I believed that if I reached a certain point in life, I’d be able to devote more time to writing. But life doesn’t stop. It never lets you get perfectly comfortable before you can start pursuing your dreams. So instead, I had to forge my own path.
Misinterpreting Signals
As someone who values science, life got easier once I understood the biochemical mechanisms driving me forward. For example, instead of feeling paralyzing fear, my therapist suggested reframing my thoughts: What if the strong discomfort I was feeling wasn’t anxiety but motivation? After all, when your body needs to move, it will provide the adrenaline necessary to take action. Adrenaline can be fear-based, but it can also be action-based.
I played with this idea a lot. I noticed that when my passion to write burned brightest, I also felt an overwhelming sense of anxiety that rooted me in place. Instead of propelling me forward, it kept me stationary. Still, I couldn’t shake the idea that maybe my body was signaling me to act, and I had just trained myself to suppress that impulse because I’d learned to manage my anxiety and panic disorders.
When I shared this with my therapist, she offered another suggestion: write for 10 minutes, regulate myself, then write for another 10 minutes. I didn’t see how that would help, but she explained that the key was in returning to the task. By going back to writing, I was telling my anxiety and discomfort, “I’m supposed to be writing, and I will continue to write despite the discomfort.” And it worked.
The more I returned to my writing throughout the day, the easier it became to sit down and do it. I still get the discomfort when I sit to write, but my body can tolerate it. Now, when I feel a passion to write and a sudden surge of adrenaline—the same sensation that used to paralyze me—I know to head to my writing chair and start typing. It’s not always comfortable, but it’s gotten easier.
Making the Right Decisions
At first, it felt like I couldn’t write, but in reality, it came down to my decisions. In the past, whenever I felt overwhelmed, I chose to comfort myself rather than push through the discomfort. I didn’t like the uneasy feelings that came with starting a new writing practice, so I opted to read or play video games instead.
Then, I read a book that posed a fundamental question to me: Did I want to endure the discomfort of pushing through the hard parts of my dream? Or did I just like the idea of being at the peak of my dream? In writing terms: Did I want to endure the discomfort of sitting and writing daily, going through intense learning curves? Or did I just like the idea of being a published author? It was a tough realization, shaking me to my core. I wasn’t sure, at first, if the discomfort was worth the dream. But in the end, I couldn’t shake my burning passion to write.
I couldn’t avoid the discomfort, whether or not I chased my dream to be a published author. If I avoided writing, I had an intense discomfort I couldn’t shake off. But if I was writing, the initial part was incredibly uncomfortable, but it got better with time. Soon, I could do 20 minutes of writing at a time. Then 30. I even got up to several hours of writing on certain days. But just as my therapist said, the factor that helped me the most was not how long I could sit and write but the number of times I came back to writing. So, oftentimes, I would purposely do chores or small errands and force myself to stop a writing session just to come back to it 10-30 minutes later. It was incredibly uncomfortable, but it was the right choice for me.
I was always a writer on the inside—I just never thought of the discomfort that may come with the journey. But day by day, I learned to push through the discomfort of starting a writing practice by finding tools to make it more comfortable, and as I worked through it, the discomfort lessened. I actually now feel the most unsettled when I haven’t worked on my writing in a while—something my spouse is quick to point out!
Big Changes
While the discomfort lessened as I created my writing practice, making the change wasn’t an easy choice; it was actually one of the most difficult decisions I’ve made in life. When I was burnt out and quit my last job, I was struggling with my mental health just to get through each day. I had my writing, which helped, but I was miserable knowing I had to return to a full-time job. During that darker period, my writing practice didn’t improve, and neither did my mental health.
The harsh truth was that I needed a different approach to living my life. For me, that meant depending on other people to help me financially while I found my path. As a hyper-independent individual, it made me sick to my stomach. Still, I pushed through the discomfort, knowing I would be equally uncomfortable (or maybe more so) if I had to give up my writing.
My spouse and I had many long conversations, exploring different possibilities. Ultimately, we made a big decision: I didn’t get another full-time job, which meant that we had to move back in with my parents. I did pick up a part-time day job, but it doesn’t even make a quarter of what I was making before, so we have to stay with my parents while I figure out how writing fits into my life and our life as a family. I finally made writing a priority, but it wasn’t an easy choice.
In addition to my frustrations of moving back in with my parents, I felt a lot of guilt for my spouse, who was also affected. However, like Roran in Becoming a Bard, my spouse was always my most significant source of encouragement, believing in me and helping me forge my own path as a writer (and simply as a person living life). I don’t know if I will ever be able to write full-time. I don’t even know how long I can write part-time. But I know that I am giving writing my all now.
Challenging Myself
I don’t think I would have succeeded in making time for writing if I hadn’t challenged myself to My Year Quest. For some people, self-imposed deadlines work wonders, but for me… well, I tended to bend the rules—a lot. So, I knew I needed a challenge that felt more concrete—something I thought other people might actually read. And I wanted it to focus on topics I felt were important and could help others.
Initially, I didn’t pursue writing because I didn’t think fiction could help anyone. But through my own therapy and discovery, I realized fiction is where life started to make sense for me. If you read Becoming a Bard, The Cursed Prince, or Empath and Apath, you’ll realize that I am constantly navigating life’s problems by creating a fictional world where I can see the big picture. If I try sticking to reality, I get overwhelmed. But fiction is my domain. And, like many, fiction is also my escape.
Even though fiction is huge for me, I also challenged myself to write about topics I thought would be important to other writers—topics that were close to my heart, such as my journey with writing or my journey to finding meditation practices that work for me. The challenge became personal because, on top of wanting to be a writer, I have always wanted to help people. I don’t know if these posts will reach many people, but if they help just one person, then that’s enough. And since they’ve helped me monumentally (and continue to do so), I think I will stay satisfied with my writing.
What About Your Dreams?
Sometimes, it takes hearing the right thing at the right time to push you forward. I once thought I wanted to be a veterinarian. I built my entire academic path around that dream. But in my junior year of college, I had an epiphany: I liked the idea of being a veterinarian, but I didn’t want to struggle through the hard parts of the job. I didn’t want to work with large animals, and the thought of dealing with people more often than helping sick animals felt unbearable. I realized that, although I liked the end goal of helping animals, I couldn’t find a way to like the journey. And that became a dealbreaker.
Writing is the same way. If you like the idea of being a writer but don’t enjoy or feel like enduring the hard parts of the process—writing, editing, storyboarding, querying agents, or the self-publishing grind—then it’s worth asking whether this is truly your dream. For me, once I realized I was fighting for something I genuinely cared about, writing felt right in a way that becoming a veterinarian never did. Even the financial insecurity hasn’t scared me off from my writing journey; instead, it pushes me forward because I’m fighting for something that matters to me.
So, if you’re like me—wanting to write but not doing it—ask yourself: Do you genuinely want to write, or do you just like the idea of being an author? Because when you find your true passion, even the hard parts are worth enduring. And if you find that you’re willing to endure the hard parts, then find a technique that works for you. You may have to make some significant changes, but it will be worth it. At least, it was for me.
Good luck with your dream,
B.R. Quinn
B.R. Quinn 