You know that feeling—when the air in your writing space feels heavy, even if nothing’s technically wrong? Or when your body carries the weight of a week’s worth of moods, stress, and lingering frustrations? That’s stuck energy. It’s quiet, like dust you only notice when the light hits it just right.
Today’s invitation: clear a little of that. No rituals required (unless you want them). Just intention, and a few small resets.
Think of it as an energetic shower. Shake off what’s weighing you down so you can return to your words feeling lighter, clearer, and more like yourself.
Stuck energy shows up in many forms—emotional, physical, creative. It lingers in clutter, in unfinished drafts, in the tension you’ve ignored. But even the smallest shift can get things moving again. Toss that empty mug. Fold the blanket. Reply to one message. Notice how the room—and your mind—feels lighter.
You don’t need a dramatic reason to feel drained. The weight often comes from the slow accumulation of little things. And you don’t need to justify your need for rest. You’re allowed to pause. You’re allowed to release.
Clearing isn’t about fixing everything. It’s about creating pockets of lightness. A long exhale. A short walk. Letting go of an object that no longer holds joy. Each small act says: I don’t have to carry all of this anymore.
This Week: Believe in Small Miracles
You don’t need a retreat or a full moon to feel better. Sometimes, it’s one deep breath. A sip of water. A laugh that sneaks up on you. The flicker of lightness is a miracle too.
So trust the small shifts. The stretch. The sunlight. The song that hits just right. It counts.
Try This:
- Think of one area of your life that feels heavy. What word describes it best?
- If that weight lifted, even a little, what would take its place? A color, a feeling, an image?
- Find one object in your space that carries a story you no longer want. What would it feel like to release it?
Let that wisdom ripple outward. You’re not just clearing your space—you’re clearing your energy. And that makes room for the version of you who’s ready to write again.
