Introduction-
This post was first published in January 2024, back when I was knee-deep in writing woes, wondering what in the world I was doing with this whole “writer” thing. Since then, something has changed. I’ve now published a writing piece every day for over 30 days. Yep, every single day. I’ve gone through the archives, finished what I once thought were lost causes, and I’m still going strong. Do I know where this writing journey is taking me? Not a clue.
But I do know this: I’m happy as a clam to have my blog, a faith-centered social space, and a reason to say “I write” out loud. And if you’re wondering, yes, you’re absolutely welcome to join the journey over at @skfabric_303. 😉
Skelly ✍🏽-
I'm a bit of all these things... ♥️
Why I Write (and Occasionally Lose My Mind Doing It)
“Be courageous and write in a way that scares you a little!”
Writing is a weird thing. It’s deeply personal, often uncomfortable, and sometimes downright maddening. It takes vulnerability to show up, put your thoughts on the page, and hit “publish” knowing that people—friends, strangers, our exes, and the occasional nosy neighbor—might read it. And judge it. And maybe think it’s about them (sometimes it is).
But I’ve stopped caring about that. Truly.
The fear that once wrapped itself around every word I typed. Gone. I used to worry about what my family would think, or if someone from my past would misinterpret something. Now? If you think it’s about you… Maybe it is. Believe it! That’s between you and Jesus.
Because writing—real writing (for me)—isn’t about catering to people’s comfort. It’s about truth and connection, it’s beautiful. One, I see fading away. It is about showing up for your calling. It’s a scary, beautiful truth, even if your coffee spills on your keyboard.
Still, I won’t pretend this process is all poetic and serene. Writing is messy.
I’ve got more half-finished pieces than socks without matches. Some days, I can’t get to my laptop fast enough—the ideas come pouring in, and I type like a woman possessed! Other days? Total chaos. The husband needs something, the kids are hungry (again), the dogs are barking at invisible nothings, and the house feels like it’s actively falling apart. Writing won’t happen today!
And what do I want more than anything on those days? To write.
But can I? No. Because life. And that makes me mad. Not like throw-things-at-the-wall mad… more like a silent, internal brooding that lingers until I can finally sit down and bleed words onto the page. That is what makes next time… so, so good!
Then there’s the opposite problem. The house is quiet, I’ve got a hot cup of coffee, my laptop is open, and I’ve even lit a candle. Everything’s perfect.
And my brain? A blank screen. Can’t I get a break?
In those moments, I wait. I pray. I remind myself that if God called me to write, He’ll also provide the words. And He does. Slowly. Faithfully. Sometimes in a whisper, sometimes like a fire alarm. But He always shows up.
That’s why I write. It’s on His time… not mine.
Because no matter how chaotic, quiet, or creatively blocked the day may be—writing is where I feel most at home. It’s how I process, how I connect, how I obey.
So yes, writing is frustrating. It’s exposing. It’s exhausting.
But it’s also holy. And it’s rawest form of beauty. It’s mine. It’s His.
SK-
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