Finding My Voice After 25 Years of Silence

The one sentence that almost destroyed my writing career

Photo by Mukul Kumar on Unsplash

Twenty-five years. A quarter of a century.

That’s how long I’d carried the weight of a single, devastating sentence: “Your writing sucks.”

Spoken by the person I loved most in the world at the time, these words became a self-fulfilling prophecy, a padlock on the door of my creative expression.

I stopped writing. Completely.

The pen, once a familiar extension of my hand, became a foreign object. The blank page, once a canvas for my thoughts and dreams, became a stark, judgmental void.

For years, I told myself I’d start again “tomorrow.” Tomorrow, I’d dust off the cobwebs of my writing aspirations.

Tomorrow, I’d reclaim that part of myself that had been so brutally silenced.

But tomorrow never came. It was a phantom, always shimmering on the horizon, yet perpetually out of reach.

The truth was, I was afraid. Afraid of the judgment, afraid of the vulnerability, and perhaps most of all, afraid of confirming the very criticism that had crippled me in the first place.

The Courage of the First Word

What I didn't understand then, but know intimately now, is that writing takes courage. Not just the initial courage to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard), but the ongoing courage to continue, to persevere through the inevitable moments of self-doubt, writer's block, and the gnawing fear that what you’re creating isn’t good enough. It’s a battle waged not just against the blank page but against the internal critic that lurks within us all.

Willpower, I’d always believed, was the key. Just grit your teeth, knuckle down, and force yourself to write. But I learned, through painful experience, that willpower alone is not enough. It’s a finite resource, easily depleted by the stresses and distractions of daily life. Trying to force myself to write was like trying to climb a mountain in flip-flops—exhausting and ultimately unsustainable.

The Science of Permission

My journey back to writing began, not with a surge of willpower but with something far more profound: permission. Twenty months ago, I gave myself permission to write.

Not to write brilliantly, not to write for an audience, but simply to write. As an act of self-preservation, a form of therapy, a way to reconnect with the voice that had been buried for so long.

This act of self-permission was transformative. It was as if a dam had burst, releasing a torrent of pent-up thoughts, emotions, and stories. The words flowed, not perfectly, not flawlessly, but authentically. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone, I wasn’t trying to meet any external standards. I was simply writing for myself.

This permission, this radical act of self-acceptance, aligns with what psychologists call self-compassion. It's about treating yourself with the same kindness and understanding that you would offer a friend. It's about acknowledging your imperfections and vulnerabilities without judgment.

And in the context of writing, it's about accepting that your first drafts might be messy, flawed, and even "sucky," but that's okay. That's part of the process.

Deep Work and the Flow State

As I began writing consistently, I stumbled upon the concepts of "deep work" popularized by Cal Newport.

Newport defines deep work as "professional activities performed in a state of distraction-free concentration that push your cognitive capabilities to their limit.” This resonated deeply with my experience.

I discovered that the moments of true creative breakthrough, the times when the words flowed effortlessly, were those moments when I was fully immersed in the act of writing, undistracted by the outside world.

Creating these pockets of deep work became crucial. I learned to carve out specific times and spaces for writing, minimizing distractions by turning off notifications, closing unnecessary tabs on my computer, and letting my family know that I needed uninterrupted time.

These focused sessions allowed me to enter a state of flow, a state of deep concentration where time seemed to disappear and the writing process became almost effortless.

Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, the psychologist who coined the term "flow state," describes it as "a state in which people are so involved in an activity that nothing else seems to matter."

It's a state of optimal experience where challenge and skill are perfectly balanced, leading to a sense of deep satisfaction and accomplishment.

The Power of Consistency

Over the past 20 months, I’ve written almost every day. Not because I forced myself to, but because I wanted to. The act of writing, once a source of anxiety and fear, has become a source of joy and fulfillment. It’s a way to explore my thoughts, process my emotions, and connect with myself on a deeper level.

Consistency has been key. Even on days when I didn’t feel like writing, I would sit down and write something, even if it was just a few sentences. This daily practice has not only improved my writing skills, but it has also strengthened my focus and concentration in other areas of my life.

Beyond Willpower: The Role of Identity

What I’ve learned through this journey is that writing is not just about willpower or technique. It’s about identity. It’s about embracing the identity of a writer, even if you don’t feel like one yet. It’s about believing that you have something to say, that your voice matters, and that your story deserves to be told.

The words “Your writing sucks” still echo in the back of my mind sometimes. But they no longer have the power to silence me. Because now I know that writing is not about perfection; it’s about expression.

It’s about finding your voice and then having the courage to use it. It’s about embracing the messy, imperfect, and sometimes “sucky” process of creation and trusting that within that process, something beautiful and meaningful will emerge. And that, I’ve discovered, is a road worth taking, no matter how deep the rabbit hole may seem.

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References:

Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

Deep Work: Rules for Focused Success in a Distracted World by Cal Newport