Writer’s block is something you encounter when you’re a writer. It’s frustrating and frustrating to overcome.

There are many reasons for writer’s block. Trauma is one of them. Unprocessed trauma, such as difficult moments in your childhood, upbringing or past experiences, can play a part in the struggle to write.

I started writing my first book almost a decade ago. I thought I’d have published it by now. But no. I am still writing it. Writing is my passion. I love writing. But often I find writing so difficult. Embedded deep in the recesses of my mind and unconscious, the expectations of being the Asian model minority eats away at me – making writing impossible.

Writer’s block can be defined as ‘a psychological inhibition preventing a writer from proceeding with a piece’. Conversely, trauma is complex and presents itself in different forms (e.g. physical, psychological). It often arises from distressing events affecting one’s wellbeing and ability to function. Stressful or confusing experiences can inhibit what we love doing, writing no exception.

Author and coach Lauren Sapala writes that unprocessed childhood trauma manifests commonly as procrastination and perfectionism in writers, where either or both conditions ‘feels utterly paralyzing and the writer never finishes…any creative project’. It can be hard to break habits or cultural norms deeply conditioned within you, especially those that don’t align with the writing process.

Trauma and writer’s block

When you’re a writer, a lot of what you write goes unacknowledged and unseen. Writing happens as draft after draft, manuscript after manuscript. Notably, I was brought up in a Chinese family where success and worth was measured in grandiose, tangible achievements. If I didn’t come home top of the class, I was not worthy of being seen. ‘Losing face’, as it is called in Chinese culture. Once in secondary school, my English teacher read out one of my essays to the class as an example. I was chuffed. Felt on top of the world.

It was a proud moment where my writing shone. But it was also a moment that compounded fiery competitiveness within me. High standards in my Asian upbringing were ingrained in me, and not getting an ‘A’ in English class each time brought on disappointment and anxiety. Standing out was the unconscious benchmark in my outlook – but standing out and accolades are quite rare along the typical writer’s journey.

For a long time, I believed I was only a writer if my writing got attention. Competitiveness is a strong motivating factor in increasing attention on tasks at hand. Until today, my lofty standards see me go round in circles researching and rewriting my book, wondering if what I write is credible or ‘good enough’ for the world to read. That’s me aiming for perfection at its finest – at the expense of getting my book done.

A writer who makes an impact tells convincing and authentic stories. Growing up Chinese, listening to elders is customary as opposed to speaking your opinion. Authority is earned through seniority, and collectiveness is valued. ‘Listen to your dad when he is talking!’ was something I heard over and over at home.

I never felt safe enough to speak up. Except for that one time in primary school where I yelled at my classmate a little too loud to ask for a book that she wouldn’t share…but the English teacher called out my behaviour unacceptable in front of everyone. It was humiliating. Keeping thoughts to myself is a deeply conditioned instinct, something so haunting yet so comfortable. On the contrary, writing is an art involving speaking up to tell stories. 

When I write, it’s always so hard to get words out. I wonder what the first line should be, feeling very nervous as a complete blank crosses my mind. I feel guilty for writing, but also guilty for not honouring my passion for writing. I feel so conflicted and stuck with writing that I procrastinate by walking away.

Writing is also about getting in touch with emotions and weaving them into characters and storylines. Writing demands emotional expression. That is the exact opposite of the tough love in many Asian cultures where displays of vulnerability is seen as a weakness or embarrassingly chaotic. Exactly like how my English teacher told me to pipe down in class for asking my classmate for a book (maybe I really was being too loud). Moreover, studies have shown that those of Asian backgrounds have lowered sensitivity towards decoding emotions, which can result in elevated social anxiety.

The tough love of sweeping aside valid emotions and moving forward with a fortress of seriousness was what I grew up seeing in a Chinese household. I love sitting with emotions but back then there wasn’t a space to do so. And I got so used to this. Sitting down to channel emotions through writing feels alienating, if not time consuming all the time.

The gravity of shame

There can be a lot of shame that comes with trauma and trauma’s consequences. Research shows ‘shame is a core aftereffect of traumatic experiences’: shame leaves one feeling inadequate and can lead to maladaptive behaviour post-trauma, and understanding shame itself is camouflaged by conditioned experiences and feelings. As discussed in The Role of Shame In Writing, shame from past experiences may lead to internalised personal inferiority, where the writer ‘hold(s) back their writing from others, instead of recognizing their ambition as grandiose…(and) memories may loom when writing in privacy.’

As the voice in my head always says over and over, ‘Where do I deserve to stand as a writer?’

Shame from cultural conditioning is no stranger to me, manifesting as writer’s block and limiting beliefs. Shame that I walked away from what my parents invested in me – and my own time in their investment which in some ways, were very sound. Shame that I felt like walking on eggshells living another’s dreams. Shame that I never knew self-belief to write a book was always within me.

But it’s never too late to start learning or start somewhere. It’s never too late to work through trauma and shame towards creating possibility.

Healing and growing

With learning comes unlearning. It takes a great deal of self-awareness to recognise your unconscious thoughts and behaviours. It takes much reflection to recognise your trauma and shame. It is uncomfortable unearthing the deepest parts of yourself, unpacking and unlearning your conditioned habits – and in the uncomfortable, that is how you grow.

Finding the origins of trauma can be confronting, and it might surprise you. It was sometime in my twenties that it dawned on me that opportunity lies on the other side of processing trauma. I got into the habit of journaling, writing down goals and then my thoughts and eventually how I felt honestly throughout the years – facing the cycle of familial conditioning. Therapy also helped me link my past to my present problems as a writer. Sometimes talking things objectively with someone helps you connect the dots.

This led me to thinking about my feelings today and my past, like the couple of anecdotes in this post. I realised my eagerness to write had always felt so wrong against my upbringing that demanded seriousness and structure as opposed to actually having fun. My procrastination and perfectionism towards writing comes from unconsciously never having been encouraged to take ownership of what mattered to me and sharing feelings, instead always told to sober up and do the ‘right’ things as a good Asian girl.

This was when I realised how my past played a part in my writer’s block. And I realised if I could journal, I could think and feel vulnerably – and write freely. And I could write a book.

Moving past trauma, and overcoming writer’s block, can be just as challenging as identifying the reasons behind it. Setting a routine and taking small steps to commit to writing is a way to make progress as a writer. Starting my blog was terrifying. But it is my way of putting my writing out there: of listening to myself, speaking up and saying yes to putting my work out there – front and centre with no tangible achievement to stand behind. But this is an achievement in itself.

In my journey of healing as a writer, I learned that you don’t have to win to win. I unlearned that accomplishments equal success in writing. Having a mission over hitting every milestone is a lot more meaningful as you seek to make a difference out there. What started out as a space to publish my work, my blog has become some sort of community sharing and uplifting each other’s cultures. That in part defines my mission – to normalise feelings of non-belonging in a culturally complex world.

Letting go of what no longer serves you and being open to new approaches helps in developing as a writer – and finding the fun in writing. That could look like leaving home behind, traveling to unfamiliar places to get inspired. Or letting go of people who trigger your trauma. It’s about stepping into the opposite of shame: knowing you have exactly what it takes to be you, having pride and freedom in your choice to pursue creative passions.

Taking the leap back into academia over the last year and a half has shaped me as a person and the direction of my book – which now has a structure and themes. Exploring Positive Psychology and intercultural communication in graduate school gave me perspective on finding meaning within every single connection and interaction big or small. Doing courses on the art of storytelling thought me the power of connection to share and understand each other. Taking studies in astrology acquainted me with the symbolic language of the skies, discerning cycles within us and the world – and how most of the time, things are connected.

One of the things that came out of the past year was This Is How We Grow, an anthology about learning to understand different viewpoints as part of personal growth. It was an honour to contribute ‘The Winding Road of Writing’ at a time of finding the path forwards with writing my book. You can read more about the publication on contributing editor Yvette Prior’s blog or buy a copy here.

Despite the frustrations arising from my upbringing, it was one where I saw a typical Chinese family that made the most out of what they had, building a life with so little. This is where my story started, one of learning that hard work and taking action creates endless possibilities. As C.S. Lewis said:

‘You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.’

Overcoming trauma in order to follow your passions take work. Everyone’s trauma and experiences are different. Healing looks different for everyone. Healing may be a journey where you revisit, rework and reconnect with parts of yourself – over and over again.

What challenges have you faced with writing or blogging?