This is me too. I freelance in the ed markets. I have a goal of earning a certain amount per year. I also have personal writing goals and a life (hubby, parents, kids, etc.). My professional and personal writing goals are in direct competition for my time and creativity. Whenever I have no assignment, I work on my own stuff. This means I maybe don't chase new clients like I should. Add this to the question of what I can and can't control in my post above. Both types of work matter to me. I know I can write well enough because of freelancing and man does that help when rejections are flowing in. And there is something to be said for experience working with editors too. But sometimes I miss getting back to my own stuff.

Stanley, thank you for taking the time to read it and leave a comment.

I'm really glad it was helpful. If it encouraged you to take even one small step forward with your writing, then it accomplished exactly what I hoped it would.

I appreciate you being here.

Sheridan, I love hearing that.

If this was the nudge you needed, then it was worth writing. Don't worry about getting it perfect—just get it moving. Momentum has a funny way of building confidence after the fact, not before.

I'm cheering you on. Now go make something only you can make. 😊

Jenny, thank you. 😊

You know, I think we all need someone to lovingly call us out on our nonsense once in a while. I certainly have. If my wife hadn't done it for me, I'd probably still be sitting on the sidelines convincing myself I was "being responsible."

It's funny how good our brains are at dressing fear up as logic.

I really appreciate you giving me the opportunity to share this with your readers. Judging by the comments, I'd say I'm not the only one who's discovered that the real battle wasn't where I thought it was.

That gives me hope for all of us.

Lisa… yeah, I know that battle well.

And honestly, it’s one of the hardest ones because it’s not rooted in fear so much as responsibility. When you’ve built something that’s already working—something that pays the bills, carries weight, and has proven itself—it makes perfect sense to protect it. That’s not cowardice. That’s wisdom.

The problem is, wisdom can sometimes become a cage when it only serves the present.

The “bird in the hand” mentality keeps us safe, but it can also keep us small if we never make room for the second bird… the one that might change everything.

What stands out to me most in what you said is this: *not writing drives me insane.*

That’s the tell.

That’s the thing you can’t fake.

Money matters. Time matters. Stability matters. But the parts of us that create? They matter too. Ignore them long enough and they start making noise. Loud noise. Restlessness. Frustration. That low hum of knowing you’re not fully aligned with yourself.

I’ve learned that the work we’re “meant” to do...the stuff stitched into us...is usually the thing that refuses to leave us alone. Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when it makes no financial sense yet. Even when there’s no guarantee.

Especially then.

And here’s the part I’d say to you as a friend: writing doesn’t have to immediately overthrow what’s already working. It doesn’t have to be an all-or-nothing gamble. Sometimes the bravest thing isn’t burning down the stable thing to chase the uncertain thing.

Sometimes it’s building the future quietly beside the present.

Brick by brick.
Page by page.
Hour by hour.

That’s still courage.

And if the writing is making you crazy because it’s not being fed, that’s probably because it’s not a hobby. It’s part of who you are.

That “beautiful future stuff” you mentioned? It’s not as far off as it feels. But it does require one thing the present never will:

Permission.

Your permission.

To invest in yourself before the outcome is guaranteed.

That’s the leap. Not blind faith… just enough faith to begin.

And if anyone I know is capable of building both the practical life *and* the meaningful one, it’s you.

Ellen, that kind of honesty with yourself is no small thing.

Getting to that “resounding yes” tells you a lot. The writing still matters to you, which means the fire’s still there...it’s just buried under everything else life has piled on top.

And emotional knots? Those are real. They can make even simple decisions feel heavier than they are.

The good news is, knots can be untangled.

One priority at a time. One rewrite at a time. Not all the jazz at once.

That’s something I’ve had to learn the hard way myself: sometimes progress isn’t about pushing harder, it’s about clearing enough space to hear your own story again.

You’re closer than you think. Keep going.