You know what it is like to carry something heavy. Something invisible. No one else can see it, but it drags at your shoulders, presses into your spine, and makes every step harder than it should be.

Fear is like a backpack you never take off. At first, you barely notice it. It is uncomfortable but manageable. You shift it from one shoulder to the other, thinking this is simply the way things are.

But the weight does not stay the same. It grows. Slowly, at first, so slowly that you do not even realize it is getting heavier. Then one morning, you wake and feel it pressing down on you, turning even the smallest movements stiff and each step more exhausting. You begin to avoid certain paths because they seem too steep. You shrink your world to fit the burden, convincing yourself it is easier that way.

That is what fear does. It settles into the corners of your mind. It settles into your thoughts. It settles into your breath. It is never loud, but it is always present.

Then it lingers in the silence. It lingers in the hesitation.

It does not simply sit quietly in the background.

It does not simply whisper.

It does not simply wait.

Then it becomes part of you. Part of your choices. Part of your life.

Writing has felt like that for me. Each time I sit down, fear clings to me like that heavy backpack. It whispers doubts, making my hands tighten and my mind hesitate. I used to distract myself, drowning in books and articles, stuffing my mind with input, telling myself I was preparing. But I was not. I was hiding. Avoiding the empty page because it exposed me to the possibility of failure.

Then I found The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. I clung to that book like a rope in the dark, desperate for a way forward. Morning Pages are my anchor, a place where fear has no power because I am allowed to be messy.

And in the stillness before dawn, I sit in the quiet, my coffee growing cold beside me, and let the words pour out, handwriting.

Some days, my pages are filled with doubts, frustration, and anger I did not know I carried.

Other days, they are lists of groceries or reminders to pay bills. None of it matters.

What matters is that I keep writing. It does not erase the fear, but it loosens its grip, little by little, morning by morning.

Then comes the Artist Date, a gentle invitation to step outside my routine and into curiosity.

Once a week, I take myself somewhere, just me and my curiosity. I wander through bookstores, flipping through pages without needing to buy anything. I sit in a café with no phone, just watching the world move around me. I gather small treasures like a bright sticker, a smooth stone, or a tiny notebook. Simple things that make me smile. They are quiet reminders that creativity is not something to be earned. It is something to be nurtured.

But even with all this, fear lingers. Not as a monster, not as an enemy, just as a shadow. And that is okay. Because the point is not to be fearless. The point is to begin anyway.

From The Artist's Way, I have learned this: You don’t have to carry this weight forever. You don’t have to be perfect; you only need to begin with Morning Pages. Writing freely each morning helps clear your mind and allows your thoughts to flow. And allow yourself to wonder whenever you can.

I want to ask you:

What is one thing you have been afraid to start?

What is one burden you could set down today?

Because maybe, just maybe, you do not have to carry it forever.

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