✋What Holds Us Back?

And What Happens When We Start Again?

I waited a long time to write my first book.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I just kept setting it aside—work, family, moving, starting over.

Eventually, I made the time, when I sold my gardening business.

Two books of nonfiction.

Then one day, I wrote a scene where Riley suddenly decides, without apology, to leave the snow and ice of Vermont. For good.

And I saw it clearly: that was me.

That moment changed everything. I realized I didn’t just want to write fiction, I needed to.

The question that stayed with me wasn’t full of blame. Just truth:

Why didn’t I know sooner?

You can’t rewrite the past.

But you can begin again—today.

What part of you is still waiting to be written?

✋What Holds Us Back—And What Happens When We Start Again?

It wasn’t a dramatic stop.

No scandal. No rock-bottom. No final declaration.

Just a quiet slipping away.

One day, I stopped singing in the choir.

Or drawing the little things that caught my eye.

Or calling friends just to chat.

It wasn’t a decision. It was more of a drift.

I didn’t mean to let it go.

But something else came first. Someone else’s needs, a practical choice, a season of busyness I assumed would pass.

And then one day, I realized the things that once made me feel most myself were no longer part of my daily life.

And the question arrived, uninvited but persistent:

Why did I stop?

It wasn’t about productivity. Or achievement.

It was about joy. Small, soulful joy.

💭 But Then a Bigger Question Whispered In…

What would happen if I started again?

Not to master it.

Not to monetize it.

Not to post it or explain it or tie it up with a goal.

Just to begin. Quietly. Honestly.

But even then, something holds us back.

Even now, when technically, we could do anything we want.

What is that?

Let’s name it.

🔒 What Holds Us Back (Even When We’re Free to Begin)

1. The Ghost of Obligation

We spent decades in service to others—children, partners, careers, aging parents.

Even when the task list shrinks, we still feel we have to earn our joy.

It’s hard to choose ourselves without guilt when that muscle has atrophied.

2. Fear in Grown-Up Clothes

We don’t call it fear anymore. We call it practicality. Or logic. Or “just being realistic.”

But beneath the surface, what if I fail? Or maybe even scarier: what if I don’t?

3. Waiting for the Perfect Entry Point

We think we need a plan, a room, the right materials, more time, a mentor.

But joy rarely comes with instructions.

It arrives, instead, like a garden weed, persistent and imperfect.

You have to be willing to meet it halfway.

4. Grief for Who We Used to Be

Returning to what once lit us up means encountering past versions of ourselves, some we miss, some we mourn.

That ache? That’s not a reason to stop.

It’s evidence that something inside us still longs to live.

5. The Myth of Finality

We think the story’s mostly over.

That our lives have already spoken their loudest lines.

But what if the most honest chapter is still unwritten?

What if this part—the part where we choose joy without apology is the one that finally tells the truth?

✨ Why Starting Again Matters (More Than You Think)

This isn’t about productivity.

It’s not about proving you’re still relevant.

It’s about being fully alive.

Doing the things you used to love, just for the joy of them, can bring:

• Emotional clarity

• A reconnection to your body, voice, or sense of wonder

• A softness in the bones that makes you feel visible again

• A steady kind of self-trust that has nothing to prove

One woman I know rejoined her choir.

Another laced up dancing shoes she hadn’t worn in decades.

A third opened a dusty watercolor set and let herself play with no one watching.

You don’t need a perfect moment.

You need a beginning.

And not one of them said,

“I wish I’d waited longer.”

🌻 So Start Again

Ask yourself:

What’s something I stopped doing that once brought me joy?

And then, without fanfare, without explanation, just begin.

One note. One sketch. One flower planted in an old mug.

One moment that says, I remember who I am.

Let that be enough.

Because you’re not too late.

You’re not too much.

And you’re certainly not finished.

You’re just… beginning again.

If you’d like some space to think this through, use this guide to write it out. Remember, no one is watching

🖋 JOURNALING GUIDE: Your Quiet Return

Use these prompts to reconnect with what once made you feel most yourself. No rules. Just honesty. Write longhand if you can. Slow and real.

🌸 Reflection 1: What Faded?

• What’s something I used to do just because it felt good?
  

• What small act made me feel most like me?
  

• When did I last feel lit up—inside and out?

🌒 Reflection 2: What’s Been Holding Me Back?

• If I’m honest, what’s kept me from starting again?
  

• Is it fear, guilt, time, or the idea that it’s “too late”?
  

• Who taught me that joy must be earned?
  

🌱 Reflection 3: What If I Gave Myself Permission?

• What would change if I did it anyway?
  

• How could I reclaim this joy without pressure or perfection?
  

• What’s one tiny way I could begin again this week?
  

💫 Reflection 4: Imagining the Return

• Close your eyes and picture yourself doing that thing again.
  
  Where are you? What do you feel in your body?
  

• Who are you becoming as you make space for joy?
  

🧭 Optional: A Note to Your Future Self

Write a short letter to the you who has started again.

Tell her what you hope she remembers.

Tell her she’s allowed.