Why You Avoid Writing the Thing You Most Need to Write

Some mornings the very first thought in my head — before coffee, before anything — was:

You have to write about it today.

And I'd think: absolutely not.

Then I'd get up and have the single most productive day of my life.

Pantry, organized.
Inbox, empty.
That drawer everybody has, sorted into little compartments.

I have never been a better housekeeper than during the stretches when there was something waiting on my page that I refused to write.

Because there was something I was ashamed of.

I'm not going to tell you what it was — that's not what this letter is, and the specifics genuinely don't matter for the part I want you to take. If you've lived any amount of life, you've got a version. More than one, probably. Everybody does.

Mine sat there for weeks. Same thing every morning: write about it. Same answer every morning: no.

Here's what I eventually figured out about why.

It wasn't laziness.
It wasn't even really avoiding the writing.

It's that writing it down makes it true.

As long as it stayed a fog in my head, it stayed negotiable. I could reframe it, shrink it, tell myself a slightly kinder version, forget about it for an afternoon.

But written down in a sentence, with a subject and a verb?
Now it exists.
Now it's a fact with my handwriting on it.

That's the resistance most people actually hit at the page — and then they misdiagnose it as being bad at journaling. You're not bad at journaling. You know precisely what's waiting for you there, and you're not ready to make it real.

But shame's entire survival strategy is staying unspoken.

It gets to be whatever size it wants as long as nobody ever says it out loud. It has to breathe before it can shrink. And the page is usually the first air it ever gets.

To quote Brené Brown:

One thing about the order, because the order is the whole thing.

Page first.
Then people.

I could not be honest with a therapist or my family about any of it until I'd first managed to be honest with myself — and the notebook is where that happened.

It wasn't the finish line.
It was just the only door I could get open at the time.

Your one small thing this week.

If there's something you keep not writing about — and you knew immediately whether there is — write one sentence about it.

Not the story.
Not the full account.

One sentence, as plain as you can make it. Then close the notebook and go do something else entirely.

You're not trying to resolve anything. You're letting it breathe for the first time.

Then hit reply and tell me: do you have an entry you keep not writing? You do not have to tell me what it's about. "There is one" is a complete answer — and it's the one I'd most like to hear.

Deep breaths. Just write.

Krystal

P.S. If what you're carrying is heavier than a notebook can hold, please let it out to an actual person too. The page was my first step. It was never meant to be my last one.

P.P.S. I know I've said this before, but the hilarious chaos on IG is really real these days! You should check it out here.