This piece is part of my 2016–2026 archive migration. Some original formatting, content, and external links may be missing, changed, or not be optimized.
I think the only way to write when you’re experiencing any type of emotion that could be a potential blocker is to simply write.
That sounds stupidly obvious. I know. But most advice about writer’s block is stupidly complicated when the answer has been sitting right in front of you the entire time.
You don’t need a ritual. You don’t need the perfect playlist. You don’t need to journal about your feelings first or meditate for twenty minutes or wait until inspiration strikes you like lightning. You need to sit down and put words on a screen. Or on paper. Or on a napkin. I don’t care where. Just somewhere.
Here’s what nobody tells you about writing when you’re going through something — grief, anger, confusion, exhaustion, whatever it is — the writing that comes out of those moments is usually the best stuff you’ll ever produce. Not because suffering is romantic. It’s not. But because real emotion strips away all the performance. You stop trying to sound smart. You stop editing yourself mid-sentence. You stop caring whether it’s “good enough” and you just say what you actually mean.
That’s where the real writing lives.
**Stop waiting for the right moment.**
There is no right moment. There never was. The people who write consistently aren’t doing it because they woke up feeling inspired every morning. They’re doing it because they made a decision. They chose to show up regardless of how they felt. That’s it. That’s the whole secret.
I’ve written articles when I was angry. I’ve written when I was grieving. I’ve written when I had absolutely nothing left in the tank and every sentence felt like dragging a boulder uphill. Some of those pieces outperformed everything else I’ve ever published. Because readers don’t connect with polished. They connect with real.
**Perfect doesn’t exist. Stop chasing it.**
There is no such thing as perfect form, perfect content, perfect purpose, or perfect writing. Writing is what you make it. It’s about showing up when you’re riding high and showing up when you’re face down on the floor. That’s what separates someone who writes from someone who talks about writing.
You decide what you create. You decide what you communicate. You decide what you build. And whether you realize it or not, you’re deciding right now what kind of legacy your writing leaves behind. Every day you don’t write is a day you chose silence over impact.
**The blank page isn’t your enemy. Your standards are.**
Most people can’t write because they’ve convinced themselves that what they produce needs to meet some impossible bar before it deserves to exist. That’s backwards. First drafts are supposed to be ugly. They’re supposed to be messy and raw and half-formed. That’s their job. Your job is to get them out of your head and onto the page. You can clean it up later. You can’t clean up nothing.
I’ve published things I wasn’t sure about. Things that felt too personal. Too rough. Too honest. Those are the pieces people message me about at 2 AM saying “I needed this.” Every single time.
**So here’s your entire strategy when you can’t write:**
Start.
One sentence. That’s all. Don’t think about the headline. Don’t think about the structure. Don’t think about whether anyone will read it. Write one honest sentence. Then write another one. Before you know it, you’ve got something. And something is infinitely better than the nothing you were protecting yourself with.
When you can’t write, just start. No matter what emotion you’re experiencing, just write. The world doesn’t need another person waiting for the perfect moment. It needs your voice. Right now. Exactly as it is.
*Prepare for unknown levels of suffering to achieve your targets.*
As you progress on your journey, doubtful questions and thoughts will visit your mind. Not might. Will. This isn’t a possibility you should prepare for — it’s a guarantee you need to accept right now before you take another step forward.
These questions and thoughts will be distracting. They’ll make you consider deviating from your goals. They’ll whisper logical-sounding reasons to quit. And if you’re not ready for them, they will pull you off course. Not because you’re weak. Because you’re human. And humans are wired to avoid pain.
If you’re getting value from this — sign up for my newsletter, a free daily 5 AM email. Discipline delivered before the sun comes up.
That’s the problem. Your goals live on the other side of pain.
**The Questions That Will Come For You**
Why should I keep going?
What’s the point of all of this pain?
What am I doing this for?
Is it even worth it?
Every single person who has ever pursued something meaningful has had these exact questions show up uninvited. They come at 5 AM when the alarm goes off and nobody is watching. They come after a failure that makes you question everything. They come in the quiet moments when the initial excitement has worn off and all that’s left is the grind.
These questions aren’t random. They’re tests. And they show up at the exact moment you’re closest to a breakthrough — because that’s when the resistance is highest.
**The Statements That Will Try To Bury You**
None of this work will go anywhere.
Nobody close to me is working like this.
I could be doing x, y, and z.
These are even more dangerous than the questions. Because statements feel like facts. They don’t ask you to think — they tell you what to believe. And when you’re exhausted and beaten down, your brain will accept them without a fight unless you’ve trained yourself to reject them on contact.
Let me break these down.
“None of this work will go anywhere.” You don’t know that. You can’t know that. Results don’t operate on your timeline. I’ve put in years of work on things that looked like they were going nowhere — and then one day, they went somewhere. Compound effort works exactly like compound interest. It’s invisible until it’s undeniable.
“Nobody close to me is working like this.” Correct. And that’s not a reason to stop. That’s confirmation you’re on a different path. If everyone around you was doing what you’re doing, you wouldn’t be building anything worth having. Isolation at certain stages isn’t a warning sign. It’s a requirement.
“I could be doing x, y, and z.” Yes, you could. You could be comfortable. You could be average. You could be doing exactly what everyone else does and getting exactly what everyone else gets. If that’s what you want, go do it. Nobody is stopping you. But you’re still reading this. Which tells me that’s not what you want.
**The Reality of the War**
Steve Siebold said it better than most: “Champions make ‘Do or Die’ commitments, and they know they’ll have to endure an unknown level of suffering along the road to victory.”
Unknown level of suffering. Read that again. Unknown. You don’t get a menu of what’s coming. You don’t get to negotiate the terms. You sign up and you find out along the way. That’s the deal.
Pain is inevitable on the journey to accomplishing anything worthwhile. Not optional. Not occasional. Inevitable. At times, you will feel as if you are at war — primarily with yourself. Your limited thoughts. Your outdated views. Your undisciplined feelings. Your comfortable habits. These are the real opponents. Not the economy. Not your circumstances. Not the people who doubted you. You.
Push through. Stay in the ring — even if you get knocked out several times. Getting knocked down doesn’t disqualify you. Staying down does. There is no referee counting to ten. The only person who decides when the fight is over is you.
Cultivate a deep endurance. Not the shallow kind that lasts a week after watching a motivational video. Real resilience. The kind that’s forged through years of choosing to show up when every part of you wants to quit. The kind that becomes part of who you are, not something you have to summon.
This is war. Treat it like one. Prepare like one. And fight like someone who already decided they’re not losing.
This content is for informational purposes only — not professional advice. Consult a qualified professional before making any major decisions.