Between the Silence and the Words!

It really feels strange to have a creative block after healing, doesn't it?!

You never know how healing changes the way you create and write. How the chaos that once fueled your words settles into something softer, something quieter. And now, in that quiet, you find yourself wondering... where did the words go?

"When your light faded, your words shone the brightest, but when you found your spark again, the words lost theirs."

It's really strange! How the thing that once saved me now feels just out of reach!
Writing was my way of coping, to make sense of emotions that felt too big to hold inside. It was my refuge when everything else felt like too much. I used to pour everything onto the page.. the pain, raw emotions, the thoughts too heavy to carry alone. The words were relentless, pouring out of me faster than I could catch them. When the weight of emotions became too much, I broke them down and rewrote them into something I could hold, something I could understand. It helped to dismantle emotions and shape my pain into something tangible, something I could control. It was how I processed.

I poured every thought, every feeling onto the page, tearing them down until they no longer held power over me. And through it, I unknotted parts of myself I didn’t even know were tangled.  The thoughts that were locked inside, the ones I never believed I could express, somehow found their way into sentences. The ideas and emotions I once thought were impossible to write became the very foundation of my writing!

Every thought, every ache, every unsaid word found a home between the lines. By the end of it all, it made me take turns I never planned, let the words lead me to places I never expected. What started as scattered thoughts became something more.. a story, a journey, a book, a reflection of everything I was.

And when it all came together, years of emotions distilled into sentences, woven into pages, pieces of myself came together as well.
In writing them, I found pieces of myself I didn’t even know I had lost. As the words shaped my stories, somewhere along the way, they shaped me into someone whole, too!

I wrote to make sense of myself and to cope. To bleed without breaking! I let words carry what my heart couldn’t hold. And in the process, with every word, I healed.

And ironically enough, when I lost myself, my words found life. But when I found myself again, they fell silent. Writing was once my lifeline, and now that I’ve healed, the words don’t come like they used to, and there's only a quiet I don't know how to fill.

At first, I welcomed the quiet.. it was what I once longed for. But as the days stretch on, I find myself searching for something that is no longer there. A part of me!

The one who couldn’t go a day without spilling something onto a page. The one who could take heartache and turn it into something beautiful. The one who never had to wait for words.. they were always there, waiting for me.

And it’s unsettling.. this quiet stillness where there was once a storm. The need to spill everything onto the page has faded. And I’m left wondering.. was my writing only ever born from pain? Now that I’ve healed, have I lost the thing that once felt like my very core?

Has peace stolen the fire that once burned so brightly and fueled all this writing? I should be grateful, but I can’t help wondering.. did healing take my words with it? And where does that leave me now?!

I don’t know if I should be relieved or if I miss the part of me that only existed in the midst of the storm of thoughts and emotions.

And here I am, standing at the crossroads of two selves.. grateful for the peace yet longing for the part of me that once could turn all that pain into poetry!

Did I lose them in the process of finding myself?
Do I mourn the writer I was, or do I embrace the quiet?
Did I start writing because I needed to heal? And now that I have, is there nothing left to say?

Maybe I don’t have the answer yet. Maybe I don’t need one!
Maybe healing didn’t take my words.. maybe it just changed the way they come.

Maybe it just gave me space to find new ones.. space to discover what writing looks like now, where I learn to write from peace instead of pain.

Maybe this is just a new beginning.. not shaped by pain but by everything else life has to offer.

Maybe my words are evolving, just as I am!
Maybe it’s not about chasing the fire but learning to write in the warmth of its glow.

Maybe the words were never gone, and they’re all still inside me, waiting for me to listen.

Maybe they’ll take a different shape, a different rhythm.. one I have yet to learn!

And here I am again, sitting with a blank page.. trusting that when the time is right, the words will find their way back to me, however they choose to come!