What Creative Block Really Feels Like (And Why Most Advice Misses It)
Creative block isn’t always about lack of ideas. Sometimes it’s about losing touch with the part of you that knows how to begin.
As a former opera singer turned painter and coach, I know what it means to feel everything—and still not be able to make a mark. Opera trained me to feel big. To hold grief, longing, ecstasy in my voice. But when it came to my own story, I couldn’t hit the note.
I’d reach for it and feel the breath catch. Not because I didn’t know how—but because I didn’t want to feel what was underneath.
Painting had always been there. Not as a hobby. Not as a side note. It was my most authentic way of expressing emotion.
It kept calling—quietly, persistently. I’d push it aside for other work, other roles, other identities. But it wouldn’t leave me alone. When I finally returned to it, I felt ready. I wanted to make something. I wanted to begin.
But I’d lost touch with myself. I’d stand in front of the canvas and couldn’t make a mark. Not because I lacked ideas—but because I couldn’t feel the part of me that knew why. The connection was gone. And without it, everything felt performative. I made work that looked right but felt empty. I showed up polished, but not present. I wanted the work to prove I was okay.
That I’d made it past the thing I still hadn’t named. And I lost myself in the process.
The shame got loud. The need to be seen—but only halfway— only one foot in, but always scanning preoccupied by safety— and the shame grew all the louder.
I looked for inspiration and found doubt. I tried to make something “good” and in the process, I’d forgotten how to make something true.
What helped wasn’t a breakthrough. It was tuning in.
Getting quiet enough to hear what was already there. Listening to the fear, the grief, the part of me that still wanted to speak. Not fixing. Not performing. Just staying.
Voice let me feel without naming. Writing asked me to name what I’d rather leave unnamed. Painting let me be. It didn’t ask for brilliance. It asked for honesty. It didn’t care if I was ready. It just wanted me to show up.
The work came back—not as a product, but as a conversation. Not something I owned. But something I carried.
What I’ve Learned About Creative Block and Emotional Expression
Creative block isn’t failure. It’s feedback.
Healing isn’t a prerequisite for making.
Control kills connection.
Your voice doesn’t need to be perfect. It needs to be yours.
Practice isn’t about output. It’s about presence.
The work lives in the body, not the performance.
The idea isn’t yours to own—it’s yours to honor.
Readiness doesn’t mean clarity. It means willingness to stay when the signal is faint.
For Artists and Creatives Feeling Stuck
If you’ve stood at the edge of a phrase you couldn’t finish—
If the canvas is quiet but won’t leave you alone—
If you feel ready but can’t make a mark—I get it.
You’re not broken. You’re not behind. You’re tuning in.
The work doesn’t need you to be brilliant.
It needs you to be honest.
It doesn’t care if you’re ready.
It just wants you to show up.
