Scared of writing? Yeah, me too – here's how I overcome creative fear

I’ve made money from writing ever since I was 14 years old. It’s what I do. It’s what I’ve always done.

And yet. There’s something about this career that makes my skin prickle. I hate it when people ask what I do.

“I write for businesses, you know, blogs and stuff – what about you, how’s your work going?” 

I try to change the subject as quickly as possible, cheeks-on-fire. With what? Shame? Embarrassment? Uncertainty?

No, I think it’s shyness. Writing is so intimate. It provides a window into someone’s soul, but without any helpful body language to give context. You can’t smile sincerely with words, or look someone in the eye, or blush. Words on a page are so stark, so fixed… so bold. 

And yet, writers are anything but certain. 

Most of us are overthinkers, constantly ruminating on ideas until we simply must write about them (or we’ll combust). And then we do, but we feel kind of sick afterwards, like we’ve just made a terrible mistake, or over-indulged in something sweet. It felt good at the time – necessary, even – but now the words are out there in the world, utterly unprotected. Should we take that blog down? Quickly share something light-hearted to show we’re so much more than whatever words we just published? 

I call this experience a vulnerability hangover and I get them all the time. And yet, I continue to write. What keeps me going, even though it feels like an incredibly vulnerable, and somewhat self-indulgent, vocation? How do I write through creative fear? 

The answer is simple. I write because I must. Because, for me, the only thing worse than writing is not writing. I learned this the hard way: through not writing for a long time. When I don’t write, I’m far more prone to feelings of despair and anxiety. I feel isolated and a little bit zany – like I’m the only one thinking certain things or asking certain questions (this is never true). 

I believe all human beings are innately creative. I’m sure there’s some strong science out there to support this theory – something for me to look into another day – but for now let’s just assume I’m right. You might feel called to paint, draw, cook, garden, bake, sing, dance. I’m willing to bet there’s something in your life that you must do or you’ll feel anxious, small, and lost. Writing is that thing for me. 

If writing is also that thing for you, then please, let those words out of their cages. Stop going to bed each night with unspoken words tickling your ribcage, craving release. Scribble in a journal, write in the Notes app on your phone, start a blog. Heck, write that novel! Stop waiting for the right moment or until you’re ‘good enough’ (no such thing) or until someone else gives you permission. 

Writing will probably always feel scary, because – like all deeply creative work – it’s an intimate and soulful act. You’ll get things wrong all the time. Your opinion will change often. You’ll constantly doubt yourself. Write anyway. 

I’m sharing this with you because I’ve spent years hiding from the call to write. I chose the best hiding place of all: freelance copywriting. I spent all my time writing for others and I avoided writing for myself. I convinced myself I was following my true calling, but really, I was lurking in the shadows.

Don’t get me wrong: copywriting is a wonderful career – and a writer’s gotta eat! (We all know you don’t go into creative writing for the cash). But, when I don’t also write for myself – creatively, boldly, unapologetically – I feel stifled and small. Writing helps me feel connected to the world, ‘plugged in’ if you like. I believe that’s what all creative work does. It jolts you out of your own life and catapults you into the wider flow of the universe.

And now, more than ever, I reckon we could all do with feeling like part of something bigger than ourselves. 

So, whether you’re looking for a ‘sign’ or just want someone to give you a permission slip, consider this it. Just write. You’re made of words – or paintings or songs or whatever art you choose to live by. The world wants whatever it is you’ve got. Begin.