I Lost My Writing Mojo — But I Found My Way Back

I Lost My Writing Mojo — But I Found My Way Back

For a while, it felt like my words had packed their bags and left.

I’d sit at my laptop, fingers hovering over the keys, waiting for inspiration to hit. But all I got was silence. Not the peaceful kind—no, this was the uncomfortable, heavy kind. The kind that makes you question yourself. Am I still a writer? Was I ever?

At first, I thought maybe I was just tired. Maybe I needed a break. After all, life was busy. Stressful. A little messy. I’d been writing consistently for months, maybe even years, and surely I was allowed a pause. But as days turned into weeks and I still hadn’t written anything meaningful, worry crept in.

Had I lost my mojo?

The Pressure of Being “Productive”

There’s a lot of pressure in the creative world to keep going—especially online. People around me were posting daily: stories, poems, blog posts. Some creators churn out multiple pieces a day. And there I was, stuck, barely able to write a paragraph without deleting it.

I started scrolling through my list of story ideas—dozens of them collected in a notebook and on my phone—but none of them sparked anything. I kept trying to force it. I’d open a blank document, type a few words, and sigh. It didn’t feel like me anymore.

And the more I forced it, the more it slipped away.

Real Life Didn’t Help

Part of the block, I realized, came from outside the screen. Life had gotten heavier than usual.

I was sick for a while—nothing serious, just enough to drain all my energy. On top of that, someone close to me was in the hospital. I had to travel often, juggling visits and responsibilities. At the same time, another family member was going through a difficult transition that required my emotional support.

Creativity, as it turns out, doesn’t thrive in chaos. Even if I wanted to write, I didn’t have the mental space.

And yet, I felt guilty. Like I was failing at something that used to come so naturally to me.

The Turning Point

One afternoon, I was organizing old files and found a napkin I had saved from a coffee shop months ago. On it, scribbled in pen, was a quote: “Write something today. Anything. Even one line.”

It took me back to a simpler moment, a time when writing wasn’t about perfection—it was just about showing up.

So, that night, I opened my notebook and wrote a few lines about how I felt. Nothing fancy. Just honest. No filters. No structure. And something inside me clicked.

It wasn’t magic. It didn’t suddenly unlock a masterpiece. But it felt real. It felt like me.

And that was enough.

What I Learned About Losing (and Finding) My Mojo

Losing my writing mojo taught me more than any writing course ever could.

It taught me that creativity is not a machine. It’s not something you can force to perform on command every day. It’s like a garden—it needs care, patience, and sometimes rest. It goes quiet not because it's gone, but because it’s preparing to bloom again.

I also learned that comparing myself to others only made the silence louder. Just because someone else is writing three stories a day doesn’t mean I’m doing it wrong. We all have different rhythms. Mine just needed to slow down for a while.

Most importantly, I realized that rest is not failure. Taking a break doesn’t mean giving up. It means giving space—to breathe, to think, to heal, to rediscover.

If You’re in the Same Place…

If you’re reading this and nodding—because your words are missing too, or your spark has dimmed—I want you to know this:

You’re still a writer.

Even when you’re not writing, you’re still a writer.

Even if all you can do today is think about writing, or read someone else’s words, or scribble one sentence on a page—you’re still a writer.

Mojo doesn’t vanish. It hides. It hibernates. It waits for you to find it again, when you’re ready.

And when you do—it may come back quietly, gently, without fanfare. One paragraph at a time.

It took time, but I found my way back to the words.

And maybe, just maybe, they were waiting for me all along.