How to Tell the Difference Between Writer’s Block and an Intuitive Pause

Not all writing standstills are the same.

There’s the kind that feels like you’re dragging yourself through mud. You sit down, and nothing comes. You try to push through, and it only gets worse. That’s writer’s block. It’s loud in your head. It comes with guilt, frustration, maybe a dash of panic. You feel like you should be writing, but it’s just not happening, and now you’re spiraling.

Then there’s the other kind. The quiet kind.

You’re not writing, but it doesn’t feel like a failure. It feels like something is shifting—like your story is rearranging itself behind the scenes. You haven’t lost the thread… it just hasn’t revealed itself yet. That’s an intuitive pause.

I’ve learned the difference by living through both. When I’m blocked, I feel tense. Anxious. I start questioning everything. I’ll try to power through, and whatever I write feels off—forced or hollow or just... wrong. It drains me. It makes me feel like I’m chasing something I’m never going to catch.

But when it’s an intuitive pause, I feel calm underneath the uncertainty. Still curious. Open. I might not know what’s next, but I can feel that the story isn’t gone—it’s just not ready yet. That’s when I know I need to wait, not push.

Sometimes I’ll pull a tarot card or lay out a few from my Lenormand deck. Not to “get answers” in a fortune-telling kind of way, but to check in. To see where I’m at energetically. The cards usually echo what I already know deep down: this isn’t a block, it’s a breath. The Wheel might show up, or The Key, or The Path, and suddenly I remember—this isn’t linear. It never was.

Writing doesn’t move in straight lines. It loops, it folds back on itself, it surprises you. One day you think your main character is going to fall in love, and the next day she’s leaving the country with a stolen suitcase. That’s the figure-eight rhythm of writing. It’s not a flaw in your process—it is your process.

The hard part is knowing which kind of pause you’re in.

If you’re feeling pressure, shame, or like you’re failing—you’re probably blocked. And what you need most is rest. Play. Permission to be bad at it for a while.

But if you’re feeling still, and there’s a kind of softness to the pause—that’s intuition. That’s your story saying, “Hang on. I’m still shaping this.”

You don’t need to panic. You don’t need to force your way out of it. You just need to stay close. Keep the story in your orbit. Take a walk. Pull a card. Scribble something in the margins. The next step will show up when it’s ready.

Let the pause be part of it.

You’re not broken. You’re not stuck. You’re listening. The work is still alive, and so are you.

Here are a few mantras for you if you find yourself feeling like you’re up a river without a paddle. I like saying mantras so I like sharing them, too. Say them out loud. Write them in the margins. Stick them on the wall if you want. Your process doesn’t need to look like anyone else’s.

• The story knows where it’s going, even if I don’t yet.

• I am not behind. I am exactly where I need to be

• It’s safe to pause. Rest is part of the rhythm.

• My intuition hasn’t left me—it’s just quiet right now.

• Stillness is not failure. It’s listening.

• This part matters too, even if I can’t see how yet.

• I don’t have to force the words. I just have to stay open.

• The creative path is not a straight line—it’s a dance.

• I trust the timing of my own unfolding.

• This breath is enough. This moment is enough.

• My writing waits for me with love, not punishment.

• When I stop pushing, the truth can rise.

• I honor the pause. I welcome the return.

• I can be gentle with myself and still be a writer.

• The pause is a page-turn, not the end of the book.