Three weeks running on fumes, pretending it was fuel.

Writing takes more than people think. Anything that asks you to pour yourself out takes more. I've been feeling every ounce of that weight. Tired. Empty. Needing to fill up.

It's shown up in my inability to write. Not because I have nothing to say. Because I've neglected the simple things that help me run well.

I've said it before: when words won't come, go for a walk. Read. Fill up so you can pour out. But what I forgot is you can't pour out if there's no energy left to pour.

The system only works as a whole.

I've mastered the part of feeding my mind—reading, observing, collecting. But rest? Still learning that. I'm still learning to retreat. Having the energy to pour out well.

It's a learning curve. Comes with time. Comes with action.

Image by Priscilla Du Preez @ Unsplash