Member-only story
Why I Took a Break from Writing
Sometimes, the silence has something to say too
There was no dramatic farewell. No official “I’m taking a break” post. I didn’t announce it to anyone, not even myself. I just stopped.
One morning, I sat down in front of my laptop, fingers hovering over the keys, and… nothing came out. Not a word.
Not a sentence. Just a hollow blankness where my thoughts used to be. I closed the document. Told myself I’d try again tomorrow.
Tomorrow turned into a week. A week turned into a month.
It’s strange, because I’ve always called myself a writer. It’s how I made sense of the world. Writing was where I ran when I didn’t know what else to do.
But suddenly, the thing that once grounded me started to feel like pressure. Expectation. Noise.
People asked, gently, “Still writing?”
And I’d force a smile. “Trying to.”
But I wasn’t. I was avoiding it. I’d scroll through old drafts like I was flipping through someone else’s life.
I couldn’t connect with the words anymore. I couldn’t even hear my own voice.
At first, I blamed burnout. Too much content. Too many deadlines. The pressure to be profound all the time. But the truth…
