The Deep Roots of Writer’s Block

In over 12 years of publishing a blog, I’ve noticed that “writer’s block” is rarely a true “block” regarding ideas, or even about how to articulate those ideas.

Read: Wisdom For When You’re Feeling Stuck in Your Writing

Rather, “writer’s block” is usually a fear of

• writing in public about a given topic;
• expressing an idea in the way that feels most natural to you, even if it doesn’t sound “professional” or fit the standards you learned in school;
• taking a position that might be seen as controversial or doesn’t fit the mainstream;
• committing to a specific niche or area.

Even this list mis-characterizes the fear.

Fear is About Consequences

The rock climber Alex Honnold, of Free Solo fame, makes the distinction between fear, risk, and consequences. We don’t actually fear actions; we fear the consequences of those actions.

This is true with writing. The fear isn’t really about the writing itself; it’s a fear of the consequences of publishing that writing: putting it in a place where the public can see it.

This becomes clear when you disconnect writing from publishing. Most people don’t get writer’s block when writing in their private journals. If nobody is going to read what you write, there are no consequences to fear.

A quick word-geek digression:

Both public and publishing come from the same root: the Latin publicus, which means “pertaining to the people.” The verb publish came into being in the mid 14th century, from the Latin publicare, meaning “make public.”

This gets to the real fear that people have about writing.

The fear is about the consequences of publishing: how people will perceive you, the judgments they might make about you, the opinions they might form about you, how they might label you, pigeon-hole you, or assess your capability for certain projects.

It’s a fear of being misunderstood, mis-labeled, mis-classified, or viewed more narrowly than your true scope.

The Deeper Roots of Publishing Fear

Interesting to note that another meaning of the word publish, from the late 14th century, was “to disgrace, put to shame, denounce publicly.”

This ancient meaning of publish reveals that the fear of publishing is responding to something evolutionary, not rational. There’s something deeply embedded in the primitive parts of our nervous systems that tells us that putting our work out to the public will invite disgrace, shame, and condemnation.

And here’s the uncomfortable truth:

This does happen.

People will misunderstand you. They will misperceive you. They won’t get it. They won’t see things that way you see them. They’ll think you’re being frivolous or disrespectful or unprofessional or whatever other label they want to attach.

Some of those people will be people close to you that you might desire to be more supportive, and that can be especially hurtful and damaging to your process.

The Consequences of Giving Into Fear

But here’s another truth:

Not everyone is the audience for your work.

A piece that you publish that some people call an embarrassment is the same piece that others will find insightful, inspiring, and helpful.

When you refrain from sharing your ideas and perspective out of fear of how some people will react, you’re allowing that fear to suffocate your brilliance — and you’re depriving the people who want to receive your gifts.

But this is not just about not sharing your expression.

When you don’t publish your ideas, you deprive yourself of potential for conversation, connection, and community. And in terms of evolution, it’s the social bonds that keep us alive.

This is why writing and publishing are about more than sharing your ideas, finding your voice, or even serving others.

When you stay silent, it’s not just your ideas and thought leadership that withers.

Your silence doesn’t keep you safe. It isolates you. It cuts you off from the very connections that your nervous system is trying to preserve.

Ultimately, you have to decide which consequence you’re willing to live with: the risk of judgment that might come from publishing, or the certainty of isolation that comes from staying silent.