Last semester my faculty mentor made the point that all of life is poetry. She said this to help me continue to see poetry differently than I do, less confined, less defined. Waking up in the morning is poetry. Sipping decaf coffee with half and half is poetry. Watching crows, northern flickers, and spotted towhees eat from our birdfeeder is poetry. Cooking dinner is poetry. Cleaning our condo is poetry. Reading is poetry. And, of course, writing poetry is poetry. And while only one of things will directly contribute to my poetry word goal for the year, all of them (and everything I didn’t mention) will definitely contribute to my creative process.

Learning to see all of life as poetry is one way to ensure there’s always inspiration. I don’t really believe in the traditional concept of “writer’s block.” I absolutely believe that our imagination and creative processes sometimes shut down to tell us we need to rest, and I absolutely believe that a lot of what people call writer’s block is actually a complete misunderstanding/misapplication of inspiration and creative discipline, but I don’t believe that there’s this ominous state of mind where writers want to write but can’t because their creativity is blocked. Usually, the people who claim that kind of writer’s block are actually blocking their own creative work in some way.

I’m not saying that writers can’t struggle with their work, or that inspiration and writing have to come easily to those who are dedicated to their craft. Not at all. Writing is always going to carry its difficulties. I’ve had days where I could only write one paragraph and it took me hours to compose. I’ve had days where even preparing to work on a project was enough to drain me of creative energy. Some projects are harder to invest in than others. Struggling within the writing process is not at all what I mean when I say that I don’t believe in writer’s block.

To put it simply, I don’t believe in the concept of sitting down to the computer or a notebook, ready to write, and then having nothing come to you. There’s always something to write about, even if it’s not what we think we want to write about. And in those moments when it really does feel as though our imaginations are empty, I have found that it’s usually because I need to read before I write. I’ve also found that those moments where my imagination feels blank often come at specific times when I need to disconnect from writing and just relax. This is especially true if I’ve just completed a writing goal.

There comes a time when we have to accept that a consistent writing practice is more than just putting words on a page. A consistent writing practice is multifaceted. A lot of it comes down to discipline. A lot of it comes down to flexibility. A lot of it comes down to self-care. And a lot of it comes down to a willingness to grow. Our creative process one year might look completely different the next. The amount we’re able to write one year might be considerably more or less than the next. I’ve even heard of writers who intentionally took a whole year off from writing, either to pursue different mediums of creativity, or simply to rest and read and consume the art of others. I’ve also heard of other writers who know that taking a year off from writing would be detrimental to their process.

I think when people claim to suffer from writer’s block, what’s really happening is they’re not listening to the creative intuition. Something about their process needs to change, and they’re resisting that change. Sometimes this has been true in my life and I wasn’t really suffering from writer’s block, but rather from my own perfectionism. If my first draft didn’t read like a final draft, I assumed I was writing garbage and just stopped. This meant I didn’t write for an almost four year stretch, but it wasn’t really writer’s block, it was my own expectations.

How did I get out of it? Well, trauma.

I had two miscarriages. I was suffering from PTSD, severe anxiety and depression, suicidal ideation, disassociation, and ultimately what saved my life was poetry. I remember one specific day about a month and a half after my second miscarriage. I was laying on the floor, pounding my fists into the carpet. I was having a panic attack that felt like a heart attack, my chest was so tight. I could hardly breathe. I had been having these panic attacks every day since my second miscarriage. I wasn’t sleeping. I was eating, maybe, one meal a day. And on this day, I was on the verge of attempting to take my own life. I was in too much pain without any real idea of how to heal or make sense of what my life was turning into. The more I thought about death, the calmer I became.

But I underestimated my desire to live. I’ve been resisting death since I was born two months early, weighing an astonishing 2 pounds, 4 ounces. That stubbornness of will was still engrained into my bones. I remember I had decided to finally end my suffering. My panic attack subsided and I laid on the floor trying to think of how I would do it. Suddenly, a voice in the back of my mind told me to sit up. I sat up. The voice told me to look around, though I didn’t know for what. I looked around.

To my right on the small bookshelf next to the couch was the notebook I hadn’t opened in almost a year and a half. Something in me knew that I needed to grab that notebook. I grabbed it. I grabbed a pen. And I wrote a poem.

It was like a dam had burst open. I started sobbing, but I wasn’t having a panic attack. It was grief. I was finally feeling my grief. Every day, sometimes as many as four times a day, I would grab that notebook and write whatever came to my mind. I wasn’t worried about it’s quality or what I was going to do with it once it was written. I was just present on the page in a way that was helping me grieve. Slowly, I started to improve. I went to therapy. I kept writing. And eventually, I went back to college to complete my undergraduate degree.

Now, I’m a published writer about to finish up my M.F.A. in Creative Writing.

Writing, like life, comes in waves. Sometimes we’re in the low-tide for a long time. Sometimes we’re in high-tide for years. Neither one is write or wrong so long as we keep writing, keep creating, and stay dedicated to our craft.