When Silence Becomes a Shadow Across Creativity

Not All Creative Blocks Are What They Seem

There’s a specific kind of silence that most people don’t notice. It’s not dramatic or loud in its absence. It doesn’t scream or make a scene. It just sits there, heavy, quiet, familiar.

It’s the silence that forms when something hurts, and instead of reacting, the body just...shuts down.

That’s been me for most of my life.

Not because I don’t care. Not because I don’t have anything to say. But because somewhere along the way, I learned that it was safer not to say it at all. I hold full conversations in my head: vivid, thoughtful, honest. I can explain exactly how I feel, how someone has hurt me, or what I need in the situation. But when the moment comes, the words never quite make it out. I freeze. I get nauseous. I second-guess myself and I go quiet. When this happens my creativity shrinks with me. I struggle to even stay consistent with my journaling. I can look back at gaps in my journal and know that I was in freeze mode.

Psychologists call it “internalized emotional regulation”. A fancy phrase for something many of us live with daily: handling distress by turning inward, at the cost of connection and often, at the cost of our creativity. It’s not a creative block that can just be pushed through, because we feel unsafe and scared and forcing past it can retraumatize.

As a creative person, it’s complicated, because I want to make work that matters. That speaks to the reader or viewer and makes them feel seen. I want to speak in color and shape and texture, in a rhythm and character and TRUTH. I want to tell the stories I carry. But when silence has been the go-to response for decades, creating can feel like walking through blackberry bushes. The freeze shows up before the words or images can.

What makes it harder is that this coping mechanism doesn’t look like suffering from the outside. No, we are really good and personifying a capable and highly functional person. I’m not curled up on the floor sobbing or hiding in my closet (even if I want to be). I’m thoughtful, functional and even sometimes funny, sarcastic and over-the-top. But underneath it? The silence is still there. It’s all the things I’m not saying even when I am speaking. I can feel it in the way I hesitate before writing something real.I can feel it when I put my brush down halfway through a painting that was getting too honest. I can feel it in the way I shrink after a phone call with someone who doesn’t really see me.

It’s strange to be an artist and writer and still not feel like I can fully show up in my own work. It makes me question my talent, my ability and whether I’ve wasted my time.

I’ve been wondering lately if its even possible to truly share my voice while I’m still in this state of freeze. If I can write and paint honestly while my nervous system is still bracing for impact. I keep thinking, Maybe I need to wait until I’ve healed more. Maybe one day it’ll just be easier.

But what if “voice” isn’t something that arrives fully formed, but something that returns to us in quiet pieces, when we learn how to stay with ourselves through the discomfort?

What if the work doesn’t require boldness, but just a little softness toward the part of us that’s still scared?

What if we listed to the little voice inside that is whispering to create a certain way or that it’s okay to be a writer and an artist?

I’m learning that using my voice isn’t about removing all the fear first. It’s about learning how to speak with the fear, in a way my body can handle. My voice is already here. She gets scared and gets barely above a whisper at times. It’s the one I hear in my head when I think, Is this too much to say out loud? When I hear that scared voice, I gentle tell it, It’s not too much. It’s just been held alone for too long.

Maybe that’s enough for now. It’s a place to start, baby steps and gentle coaxing...one line at a time, one brush stroke at a time.

Because it doesn’t have to be loud to be honest.

It doesn’t have to be fully healed to be real.

And it definitely doesn’t have to be perfect to matter.

If any part of this landed in your chest the way it landed in mine when I wrote it, you’re welcome to share something: a line, a feeling, or a thought in the comments. My inbox and comments are open if you feel like saying something back.

If you enjoyed this, come hang out with me over on Substack! I share even more behind-the-scenes thoughts, creative tips, and heart-led stories. You can find me at Artsy Bits I’d love to see you there. 💛