In the before times, you and creativity were on fire. You snuck off and hid out under the bleachers, passionately penning a poem. You spent long nights together in your room pouring your heart out about being young and misunderstood. Lit up by inspiration, you bravely released your stories out in the world and swelled with pride when people raved.

Then everything fell apart.

Now, you can barely get through writing the grocery list. 

You sit down to start a blog post, cupcake ipsum (it’s a thing!) reads better. 

You seduce creativity with colored gel pens, light candles, pour wine, and whisper, “ . . . let’s write a poem.” 

Ghosted. 

How did your incandescent imagination turn into a cinderblock? 

As you got older, the little writer inside of you who viewed the world with rosy wonder and marveled at emotions got rolled a few too many times. Playfulness and creativity caused unwanted attention and left you open to be judged or get your feelings steamrolled. 

Your inner explorer ...