There’s a particular kind of stuck that shows up when we approach the most emotionally intense moments in our stories. It’s not the kind of stuck that comes from not knowing what happens next because often, we do know. We’ve pictured the scene. We’ve felt its weight. And still, we can’t seem to write it.
You sit down with every intention of getting words on the page… and then you check your email. Or start cleaning the kitchen. Or scroll through your phone. That scene – the one you’ve been avoiding – keeps tugging at the back of your mind. The breakup. The loss. The confrontation. The truth finally spoken aloud.
Here’s what I want you to know: you’re not being lazy. This isn’t a failure of discipline or talent. What’s happening is your brain is trying to protect you. That resistance you feel? It’s not random, it’s a built-in response to emotional discomfort.
But avoidance doesn’t mean you’re not ready. It doesn’t mean you’re not brave or capable or good enough.
What I’ve learned both in my own writing and through years of conversations in the Mindful Writing Community is this: you’re not stuck because you’re doing something wrong. You’re stuck because your nervous system is doing exactly what it’s designed to do – shielding you from perceived danger. The trick is learning how to write anyway, with tools that keep you grounded and safe.
Why Resistance Shows Up When the Scene Matters Most
Neuroscience tells us that the brain is wired for survival. It doesn’t distinguish between physical danger and emotional discomfort, so when you sit down to write a scene that stirs up vulnerability, grief, or old trauma, your brain perceives a threat.
It’s no surprise then that your nervous system might go into fight-flight-freeze mode. Avoidance is your brain’s way of hitting the brakes.
This is especially true if the scene touches something personal. Maybe it mirrors a real moment in your life. Maybe it feels like you’re exposing something private. Maybe it just hurts.
Research in trauma-informed writing and creativity (like the work of Dr. Bessel van der Kolk and Julia Cameron) supports what many of us feel intuitively: emotional blocks are often physiological. The fear isn’t just in your thoughts—it’s in your body.
Some common reasons this resistance shows up:
- Fear of inadequacy — “What if I can’t do this justice?”
- Fear of overwhelm — “What if I fall apart while writing it?”
- Fear of exposure — “What if people see too much of the real me in this?”
When those fears get loud, the avoidance kicks in. That scene that needs to be written becomes the one thing you never seem to get to.
But the paradox is: these are often the scenes that matter most. They carry the emotional truth of your story. And that’s what readers remember.
Resistance Isn’t a Sign You’re Doing It Wrong
Every writer I know, especially those who’ve gone on to publish, has hit this wall.
I’ve had clients say, “I’ll write anything else but this chapter.” I’ve said it myself. Sometimes, I’ve opened a document and just stared at the scene, paralyzed by my own self-doubt.
That’s when I remind myself of something I once heard from Brené Brown: “You can’t get to courage without walking through vulnerability.”
And writing a difficult scene? That’s vulnerability on the page.
So if you’re feeling stuck, you’re not off-track—you’re exactly where the good stuff lives. You don’t need more willpower. You need a few supportive tools and a way to remind your brain: this is safe.
Three Gentle Strategies That Actually Work
Here are a few tools I return to again and again – and that I often recommend to both writer friends and writers I work with:
1. Name your fear
Take five minutes and write down what you’re avoiding and why. Is it about how readers will perceive it? Is it about bringing up something painful? Getting specific helps reduce the emotional fog.
2. Use mindfulness to calm your nervous system
Before you write, pause. Place your feet flat on the floor. Take three slow, full breaths. When you exhale slowly, you send a message to your brain: I am safe. I am grounded. This is not an emergency.
3. Draft imperfectly (on purpose)
This one has saved me more times than I can count. Give yourself full permission to write a imperfect version of the scene. Rambling, messy, overly dramatic—whatever. The goal is simply to get it out. You can revise later. But you have to give yourself something to work with first.
As Anne Lamott famously said: “Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere.”
Brave the Page
So here’s my invitation: don’t shame yourself for avoiding the difficult scenes. Instead, try getting curious. What might be waiting for you on the other side?
Because in my experience, those are the pages where the story starts to glow.
What’s one emotionally charged scene you’ve been avoiding?
Do you know what’s holding you back—or is it just a vague sense of dread?
Have you found ways to move through that resistance?
Bonus prompt: Share a time you finally wrote a scene you’d been avoiding. What helped you face it?
Drop me a note if this hits home—I’d love to hear your thoughts.
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