A Message to the Creators Who Forgot How to Create

I Might Not Be a Writer Anymore

For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved words and storytelling. In the darkest moments of my life, books and journals brought me peace and gave me space to escape. My identity has always been tied to being a writer—the name of my website is Raeah the Writer, after all. If you asked me the one thing I want to do before I die, my answer has always been the same: write a book.

So why don’t I feel like a writer anymore?

The Evidence

It’s been over a year since I’ve written a post for this blog—or anything of substance, really, beyond the occasional heartfelt Instagram caption. When I even think about writing, my body reacts like I’m stepping into a dark, abandoned building instead of returning to the warm, familiar home of my childhood. My legs tremble. My chest tightens. A voice whispers, “You can’t do this anymore.”

Maybe once upon a time I was a writer. Now I’m a mom, a wife, a person in recovery, an employee, a mentor—everything but a writer. I use AI to write emails. I don’t even write at work anymore now that I’ve moved into a Director role. What proof do I have that I’m still a writer?

Not much.

But Maybe I’m Wrong

Not much—except the ache I feel when I imagine never holding a book I’ve written in my hands.

Not much—except the peace I feel right now, sitting at my laptop, typing these words.

Not much—except the quiet voice that sometimes whispers, “We should write something today.”

For the first time in a long time, I sat down, opened a blank document, and just... tried. How does it feel?

Like riding a bike after years away.

Scary and unfamiliar at first. But now that the page is filling up and I’ve found my rhythm again, it feels familiar. Empowering. And dare I say—easy.

Maybe the truth is: I am and will always be a writer, even in seasons where I don’t have the time, space, or energy to commune with that truest part of myself.

So, Fellow Creative—What Does This Mean for You?
I’m here to echo that small, still voice calling to you.
Maybe it’s been days, weeks, months—or even years—since you last connected with the part of yourself that creates. Maybe you’re scared you’ve lost your spark, your voice, your gift.

But as long as the call is still there—even faintly—you are still a creative.

No matter how long it’s been.

So here’s my advice: answer the call in a way that feels gentle. Paint one stroke. Write one sentence. Sing one note. Take one step.

With small, steady acts of courage, we can return to ourselves—one tender moment at a time.