Prompt: What holds you back?
My brain feels blocked, the creativity and thoughts not flowing. I catch myself thinking I don’t have inspiration because I’m not in pain—and isn’t that twisted and unfair? No one is putting this pressure on me except me. Usually, writing feels fun, like free-flowing water, watching the words pile up into pages. I write to discover what I really think, and because I know it’s a release. Once I get going, the momentum takes on a life of its own. To admit I’ve been out of practice feels like a flimsy excuse.
So what do I think?
I think I’m still sad after the last breakup. I think I’m often more inspired by others’ lives than my own. I think there’s friction between who I am and the work I do. I think I feel grounded and peaceful, and also deeply restless. I think maybe this writing will lead somewhere, and then I’m not so sure. I think I’m not doing enough—at least that’s what my mind whispers—yet my body speaks a different language. I think about running away and starting over, then tell myself I’m too old for that... and then wonder, why not? I want to write stories that are funny, heartfelt, and inspiring. I want my words to feel like release, untangling the knots in my mind. I want them to carry the lessons I’ve learned—because maybe they could help someone else.
So what’s holding me back?
I think it’s me.
Sometimes my body speaks before my mind can form the words. A tight chest, a lump in my throat, a belly pulled into knots—each one clinging as if letting go would mean shattering completely. But inspiration doesn’t always have to come from pain. Why not from possibility? From the dream of something more, the wish of glitter on the moon, the shimmer of a dragonfly landing nearby, the shifting shapes of clouds in the sky. By profession, I am a yoga and meditation teacher. And as the world would name it, I am all peace and love. That is true in my heart, but before this new life came a history of obstacles. The most persistent one: my own inner critic. It isn’t something you “overcome” once and for all, but something you learn to live alongside. As a child, my mother would often tell me I was my own worst enemy. At the time, I thought she
meant my drive for perfection and achievement. I had no idea that phrase would lodge itself into the back of my mind and become the hidden driver of so many choices. Behind many obstacles in my life was the belief that I had to hustle and grind my way through.
And for years, I did. The greatest obstacle came when I lost both my marriage and my twenty-year teaching career within a single year. On the surface, I rebuilt quickly—I made a plan, recreated my life, kept moving forward. But the truth is: the obstacles never stop coming. Some big, some small. What I’ve learned is this: it’s not about getting over them, it’s about navigating through them. Reflecting on what each one is teaching me. Because when you’re raised to believe you are your own worst enemy, learning to see yourself differently is a feat in itself. The good news? Once you can name an obstacle, you can begin to work with it. Not by erasing it, but by shifting your perspective. It’s never easy, and it rarely feels good at the moment. But it’s possible. Looking back at the obstacles of my past, feeling the ones in my present, and even imagining those to come, I see the same truth: my mind will try to get the best of me. But now I recognize it when it happens, and I can make a different choice. Each time, I have the chance to grow. To level up. To reframe my inner critic—not as a destroyer, but as an inner strategist. A voice that, if I learn to listen carefully, can actually help me.
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