Follow Your Spark, Not Your Trauma: Healing a Creativity Block

Why a Creativity Block Isn't Really About Talent

Most people think they're either "creative" or they're not. That verdict usually got handed down in a classroom around age eight, when someone said a drawing looked wrong or a poem didn't rhyme right. And somehow that one small comment turned into a permanent fact about who a person is.

It's not a fact. It's a wound. And here's the good part— wounds can heal.

Twenty Seconds Is All It Takes to Beat Creative Fear

One simple practice for working through creative fear is sit down for seven minutes and write a poem with a specific word in it. No pressure to be good. Writing a bad one on purpose is actually encouraged, which honestly feels like such a relief just to hear. Author Andrew Newman, past guest on the podcast, put it simply, quoting a line he loves, "all it takes is 20 seconds of outrageous courage." Not hours. Not a total personality overhaul. Just twenty seconds of doing the scary thing anyway.

That takes so much pressure off. Nobody needs to become a different person to make something. They just need to survive the first twenty seconds of discomfort, and that's a kindness worth giving yourself.

There's a story behind that seven-minute poem idea worth knowing, one Newman told during our conversation, and I loved it. Years ago, he sat on a sidewalk with a sign asking strangers for poetry to help earthquake survivors in Haiti. Felt ridiculous doing it. Got questioned by a police officer about whether he even had a permit to collect money. It turned into a book, then donations, then thousands of poems written by strangers who all swore up and down they couldn't write. Every excuse in the book. None of them true.

That's the part worth sitting with, gently. Everyone is so sure their block is different, permanent, real. It usually isn't. It's just fear wearing a convincing disguise, and you're allowed to see through it.

The Habit of Explaining Yourself Before You've Even Started

Watch what happens the moment someone shares something they're proud of. Instead of letting it land, they add "well, it's not that good" or "I probably won't finish it anyway." Prefacing, explaining, softening the blow before anyone else can throw a punch. We've all done it. I've done it.

Newman calls this "prefacing," and his point was blunt in the best way. Doing that is basically begging the room to lower its expectations before showing them anything. Noticing it happen in real time is the whole first step, and noticing without judgment is enough. The next question is simple, and it can be asked with real tenderness. What is that habit actually trying to protect?

How Comparison Blocks Creativity and Joy

Someone shares something joyful in a group, and the instinct is to shrink a smaller win because it feels small next to theirs. Or the opposite happens, someone is sitting on something wonderful and swallows it because a person nearby is grieving. Both come from the same tender place. The assumption is that honoring one moment means dishonoring another. It doesn't. Holding both at once is the actual skill. Uncomfortable, but not impossible, and worth practicing with a lot of grace for yourself.

A Five-Minute Self-Worth Practice Before Bed

Try this tonight, and be gentle with yourself while you do it. Before falling asleep, ask five questions: 

  1. What went well today?
  2. Who showed love today, even in a small way?
  3. What's one thing done today worth being proud of? 
  4. What's one thing to like about myself? 
  5. How do I want to wake up feeling tomorrow?

Five minutes, that's the whole practice. Whatever gets carried into sleep tends to stick around longer than expected, so it's worth loading it with something kind instead of something critical. You deserve that kindness, especially from yourself.

None of this erases the hard stuff. Trauma, old beliefs, shame built in long before there was any say in it, that work still matters and it's real, and it deserves care too. But healing isn't only about looking backward. At some point, it also means walking forward, gently, toward the thing that's actually worth making.

Pick one thing today. Write the bad poem. Say the true thing out loud without the caveat. Notice the critic and let it talk without obeying it.

Twenty seconds. That's all it takes to start, and I'm rooting for you.

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