Courage, Creativity, and Letting Go of What People Think

Hello beautiful people,

It’s been a few days—actually, more like a week. In full transparency, I was worried it might be longer. You see, I’ve been avoiding writing this week. Every time I sat down at the computer, I panicked. More fear than joy washed over me. It felt like that nerve-wracking experience of staring at a blank page when you have a lengthy school paper due and no idea where to start.

This caught me off guard. Lately, I’ve loved writing. I’ve looked forward to it each morning. In fact, I haven’t missed more than two consecutive days in months. Just ask my husband, Bryce—he’ll quickly tell you I get irritable if I don’t have my morning writing time.

So this uneasiness at the computer was puzzling, especially after last week, which had been the complete opposite. As I’ve mentioned before, sharing my writing has been an exciting journey. It’s gratifying to hear that others resonate with my words or share similar experiences. Words have this beautiful way of creating connection, intimacy, and the realization that we all share the human condition.

But this week? Writing has felt less like joy and more like enduring a root canal.

My Love-Hate Relationship with Writing

The truth is, writing hasn’t always been my friend. For most of my life, I hated it. Capital H, full stop. Writing always brought out intense insecurity. Since I can remember, I’ve thought of myself as a terrible writer. Sharing my words felt like exposing my soul. In college and graduate school, I avoided “peer reviews” like the plague. The thought of swapping papers and having others critique my work was anxiety-inducing. I feared they’d uncover my lack of academic polish or my tendency to use passive voice, and judge me for it. I was convinced my writing was a reflection of my intelligence—or lack thereof—and that I didn’t truly belong in the academic spaces I occupied.

Writing also triggered my perfectionism. For me, the writing process feels like walking in the dark—not knowing where I’m headed. And perfectionism hates uncertainty (and failure, for that matter). Part of this likely stemmed from how I was taught to write. In elementary school, it was the “hamburger method,” where the introduction and conclusion were the bread, and the key ideas were the fillings. In high school, we had to use graphic organizers to structure our essays. These tools, while helpful for some, only boxed me in. How could I structure an argument when I didn’t even know what I wanted to say yet? If my initial ideas fell apart mid-draft, I felt defeated and often started over. It was a vicious, painful cycle.

Over time, I’ve reframed some of my earlier beliefs about writing. For instance, I now accept that all first drafts are messy (my father would use more colorful language to say this). I know that writing to find the argument is normal. But even with this understanding, writing remains a struggle, and sharing my work still requires a lot of courage. It feels like stepping into a boxing ring with my inner critic. And let me tell you, self-doubt and fear are formidable opponents. Their punches sound like: “That sentence is garbage.” “Where are you even going with this?” “Wrong use of a semicolon!”

The Artist’s Way: A Life-Changing Practice

Despite this, I’ve started to let go of some of the perfectionism. My perspective on writing began to shift when Bryce gave me a book called The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. It’s about embracing your inner creativity. At first, I was confused—why would he give this to me? I never considered myself creative. To me, creativity was for people who went to art school or could draw recognizable stick figures— not whatever I create that my toddler gleefully critiques.

The book introduced a practice called “morning pages.” The idea is simple: each morning, you write three pages longhand (I prefer typing) of whatever comes to mind. The writing doesn’t have to be organized or meaningful; it’s a stream-of-consciousness exercise meant just for you.

I underestimated its power. At first, I didn’t think much would come of it. But I was wrong. This practice has become therapeutic. Over the past six months, I’ve learned more about myself than I had in the previous six years. If you’re seeking self-discovery, I dare you to try it—but be warned, it’s transformative.

Embracing Imperfection and Letting Go

So, when my old writing dread crept back in this week, I panicked and turned to my favorite coping strategy: avoidance. Instead of writing, I went down the rabbit hole of “how to have a successful blog.” Apparently, there are rules: Find your niche. Define your audience. Build a newsletter. Start a social media page.

The advice left me spiraling. Who am I even writing for? What’s my niche? Do I really need a social media page? This was supposed to be fun, not another to-do list. My plate is already full with work, Bryce’s dissertation, and parenting tiny humans.

Even worse, I realized: “This is public now.” If I fail, people will see it. The fear of being “found out” as a fraud crept in, loud and clear.

Thank goodness for Bryce. He brought me back to earth. “Sarah Frances,” he said, “I say this lovingly, but no one cares that much about your blog.” He has a way of humbling me.

His words, though blunt, were exactly what I needed. He reminded me not to catastrophize. The next morning, I sat down at my computer again. The fear had dissipated, but now I felt blocked. I realized I was censoring myself, worrying about how my words might be received. What if I offend someone? Embarrass my parents? Can I say this? What will people think?

Ah, the familiar question: “What will people think of me?”

This anxiety has plagued me for years. Reflecting on it now, I see how it shaped much of my life. In second grade, it was,“What will people think if I don’t win the mile run in PE?” In sixth grade, it was Abercrombie clothes. In high school, it was social groups. In college, it was about being seen as smart, pretty, or cool. I’ve spent years caring way too much about how others perceive me.

My dad used to say, “Sarah Frances, you’ll be free when you stop caring what people think.” At the time, I found this borderline annoying and couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Easy for him to say—he wasn’t a young girl navigating the maze of societal pressures.

But lately, his words have been lingering in my mind. What does it truly mean to let go of others’ opinions? And can that kind of freedom really change your life?

For me, caring about others’ opinions wasn’t just a quirk—it was rooted in a deep desire to belong. I spent so much time looking outward for answers: Am I enough? Am I worthy? Do I fit in?

Now, I’m working to shift that narrative. I want to stop measuring my self-worth through the lens of others and start embracing who I am, flaws and all.

This blog is part of that journey. When I write, I aim to express what’s on my heart—not what I think people want to hear. It’s not about likes, approval, or acceptance. It’s about showing up authentically and unapologetically as me.

It’s a work in progress, but I’m learning to embrace the beauty of my messy, imperfect self. And with each step, I feel a little closer to the freedom my dad always believed in.