writing just for the joy

I’ve been writing in this space for over three years, but somewhere along the way I got lost.

What began as a creative outlet to share words on motherhood, womanhood, business, life and all the in between somehow turned into fitting a specific shaped cog into a machine that I never really agreed to get involved with.

Simple words and musings on life as an experience turned into ‘maximising’ and ‘curating’. It was all about headers, footers, calls to action, email sequences, notes, numbers… and what was once initiated purely for the sake of an expressive outlet during the early days of postpartum with my second baby, having loved writing since I was a child, became tainted.

The joy and the aliveness drained from my words, and with that a little piece of myself went missing. After an initial glorious 18 months (perhaps it was the honeymoon period) over the past year or so I have found it harder and harder to show up here.

This is not a post about leaving Substack, or criticising it as a space — because it has a multitude of richness in the layers it now offers BUT it was never meant to be that place for me.

What used to give me a place to share spontaneous bursts of creative energy in an hour or so, became a day (or several days) of writing, editing, selecting dividers and images and making sure I had taken advantage of all the functions in my dashboard. The exhilaration and freedom I felt pressing publish turned into anxious anticipation as I watched for engagement, waited for comments, and questioned myself when those things dwindled or didn’t come at all.

In this season of my life, with two young daughters, a business, a home to run and a nice collection of health and wellbeing needs I am navigating — I simply don’t have the space to dedicate hours and hours to writing, and somehow, instead of letting myself write short and sweet contemplations or poetic ramblings, I just… stopped.

But it has never been because I don’t have anything to write about, it just became too overwhelming to bring those ideas and inspirations into form in the format I believed I needed to in order for it to be ‘useful’, ‘worthwhile’, or be visible amongst the many other publications here.

Over the last few years I have learned that completion is a vital part of my creative process and if something feels like it will take too long to finish, or I don’t have big chunks of time to bring it to a neat and tidy close, I just won’t bother.

I also know myself well enough now to understand that I need a certain level of accountability to show up to my craft. Enough pressure, but not too much… that is a delicate balancing rope to teeter across, but actually when I had a weekly writing schedule I felt more attuned and aligned with myself because my words have always been a part of my processing.

HOWEVER… there are parts of me suppressed and frustrated because words are bursting out of me, desperate to spill over the edges and take shape in whatever form they are meant to.

They sit inside and almost fester like a blockage and the more they stay there, the more they stagnate, and the harder it is to begin.

I have been really enjoying Beth Kempton’s Summer Writing Sanctuary over the past week or so, involving my 6 year old daughter in it as well as we are knee deep in the summer holidays, and it has reminded me how much I love to write.

To write without a set purpose. To write without a big clear value (the essence of the words is value enough). To write in different tones on different subjects depending on where my hands and fingers take me.

Tomorrow is my 43rd birthday. The past 18 months have been a deep and shadowy unravelling. I am in a personal 9 year and it feels as though missing pieces of my personal puzzle have been falling into place and I know myself more than ever.

I have so much to share. More than ever I suspect.

I know what feeds me. I know what drains me. I am much more aware of my capacity.

Writing here is my art. It is my playground. It has many different dimensions (Manifesting Generator vibes of course). The minute it becomes something too ‘shaped’ is the minute it loses it’s sparkle to me and the moment my sacral switches from fizzy and lit up, to getting the serious ick.

So I am curious to find out… can I let these posts and pieces be short bursts of creative inspiration as they arise? Can I devote myself to the purity of writing in it’s raw form? Can I strip it back to simply tapping words on a keyboard and letting that be enough? Can I let it be rough round the edges and still see it as beautiful? Can I write about my nervous system and sacred business one week and share a poem or a meditation practice the next and be OK with that?

Because this is what my heart longs for. This is what creativity is asking me to do.

Let’s see.

With love

Lauren x

If you want to know more about me and my world head to my About page here.