How to Begin Again (As a Writer, a Dreamer, a Human Being)

For the seasons when your voice goes quiet, and you’re not sure if it will ever return—this is for you.

Why do you write?

It’s a question I never quite knew how to answer, until I looked back and realised when I first knew I was one.

It wasn’t a grand declaration. No teacher ever told me I had a gift. I didn’t grow up journaling every night or dreaming of novels. It began, quietly, during a season of transition.

It was 2016. I had just completed my second semester of university, and for reasons I couldn’t quite explain, I decided to switch campuses. I had already uprooted my life once, moving across the world. Now, I wanted to live somewhere new, closer to the city, closer to the version of myself I felt quietly becoming.

It all happened so effortlessly. I applied. I got in. I moved. And I remember thinking:
That was too easy. Maybe this was always meant to happen.

What I didn’t know at the time was that this campus didn’t just bring me closer to the city, it brought me closer to myself.

My major was business. But this new campus offered courses I hadn’t seen before, one of them was creative writing

At first, I hesitated. I’m someone who can get stuck in decision loops, especially when it comes to study and career paths. Marketing? Economics? Strategy? Should I stick with what makes sense on paper?

I gave myself one day to decide. I called it an adventure day.

I went somewhere I’d never been. I had a good coffee. I people-watched. I waited for a sign, but nothing obvious came. I started to panic:
Why don’t I have the answer yet?

And then, I softened.
I reminded myself: You don’t have to know. Not yet.

I let go. I kept walking.
That’s when I saw it. A billboard. I don’t remember the exact words, but it had something to do with creative writing and it hit something deep in me.

Without overthinking it, I signed up for the course. It ended up being my favourite class. Not just because I loved the assignments or the stories, but because I loved how I felt in that room.

I would sit. Listen. Write. And something in me would come alive.

For the first time, I didn’t feel like I had to force clarity. I didn’t need to justify it to anyone. I just knew.

That was the moment I realised that writing wasn’t just something I was good at, it was something that felt like purpose.

It became a way of healing. A way of expressing things I couldn’t always say out loud.
A way of connecting offering words to others who might need them, too.

How To Begin Again

There’s no silver lining. No sudden clarity.

Beginning again doesn’t always feel magical.
Sometimes, it’s a giant step, like moving across the world.

Other times, it’s quieter.
It begins as a sense: Maybe I’m supposed to do this.

You take one step, not knowing if it will make sense.
You start writing for an audience of one.
You launch the business without knowing the offer, the audience, or if anyone will care.

And then, there are the hard days. When beginning again feels too heavy. Too tender. Too uncertain. But even then, it’s worth giving yourself permission to explore a new chapter. To let your gifts breathe again.

Beginning again can also come easily.
A message from a friend. An unexpected invitation.
And suddenly, something clicks.

That counts, too.

But more often, beginning again is our job.
Our responsibility.
To take small, faithful steps toward what matters.

What about you?

When did you first notice your love for words?
Was there a quiet moment, or a surprising turn, that led you to discover something sacred in your gifting?

Fast forward nearly a decade after that creative writing class and I’m starting to realise:
It wasn’t just a step in the right direction.
It was part of a much bigger story.

In the years since, I haven’t written for an audience. I haven’t published a book.
But I’ve carried this love deep inside me - quietly, consistently, like a small flame that never went out.

Now, as I start this newsletter, I feel something returning.
A soft but clear reminder: the gifts may fall silent for a season, but they never disappear.

This feels like turning the page into another chapter. One where the things I put aside are slowly being brought back to life.

If you’ve carried a calling, a skillset, a dream, and for whatever reason, you haven’t used it in a while….That’s okay.

There comes a season where things shift.
Where you find your footing again.
Where you remember who you are, not in accolades, but in the spaces where you come alive.

I’m so glad you’re here, walking this path with me.
Here’s to rediscovering the quiet gifts.
The ones that were never really lost

🌿 A Companion I Resonated With

Each time I share a letter, I include a voice I’ve recently come across. Someone whose words stayed with me a little longer. If it resonates, I pass it on.

Today’s companion:

• This week:

  • Jerine Nicole – The Roaming Heart
    Her latest letter, "How I move with grace even when life is chaotic," is a grounded and honest look at what it means to keep writing, creating, and caring for yourself in the thick of everyday life.

    She writes not from the mountaintop, but from the middle of it all with tenderness, clarity, and permission to be real. A reminder that grace isn’t about perfection, it’s about how we move through what’s already here.
    

    

  If you’ve found someone whose work feels like that — reply and let me know. I’d love to read them too.