For years, writing was second nature to me. It was my companion in my highs and lows. But when life began to demand more from me, this companionship slipped away.

I had final year project, assignments, field-works, and coming exams that took my attention away from my writing routine. Days turned into weeks, then months, and before I knew it, my once-daily writing habit felt as distant as a forgotten dream. And returning to the craft wasn’t as simple as picking up where I left off; it felt like starting over.

I suppose that’s the way it is with anything we step away from for too long. The desire to return might linger in the background, but the act itself becomes daunting. Where do you begin again when the rhythm that once defined you has grown quiet?

The Silence

The first thing I noticed after taking that long break was an internal silence that made it difficult to hear the familiar rush of inspiration. It was as if the part of my mind that once effortlessly generated ideas had gone into hibernation, and waking it required more effort than I anticipated.

I’d open a blank document and stare at it, expecting the words to flow, only to find they had no urgency behind them. I wanted to write, but the impulse had grown cold, rusted from disuse. It took me a while to accept that inspiration doesn’t return on command.

Rediscovering the Process

Like restarting an old machine, I had to gently nudge my writing back into motion, oiling the gears by simply showing up. I would sit down at my desk each day, knowing full well that what I was about to write might not be groundbreaking, or even good, but it was a start.

Sometimes, all I could muster was a sentence, other times a few paragraphs. But the goal wasn’t to produce something spectacular; it was to retrain myself in the act of creating. After a long break, it’s easy to expect a grand return, but the truth is, creativity often creeps back slowly, bit by bit. And that’s okay.

There’s a certain grace in allowing yourself to begin again without the weight of expectation. The break happened, and it left its mark, but that doesn’t mean you have to wait for perfection before you start again. Sometimes, the routine is the cure.

Leaning Into the Middle

The middle, as I’ve learnt, is where life and creativity really live. The messy, uncertain period between knowing and unknowing, between what you once were and what you’re becoming. After a break, the beginning feels exciting, the potential for a fresh start all but glimmers. But the middle—that’s where the real work happens. It’s also the hardest part.

I found myself frustrated by how slowly my rhythm returned. I hated how halting and awkward my sentences felt. It was easy to romanticise the idea of writing after such a long pause, but the reality was far less poetic. My writing muscles had weakened, and I needed to build them up again, one small exercise at a time. A micro poem here, a journal entry there.

What helped me most during this phase was choosing consistency over perfection. I learned to lower my expectations, to embrace the discomfort of the middle, and to write even when the words didn’t feel right. Because in writing, as in life, the magic is rarely in the perfect execution. It’s in the attempt, in the effort, in the showing up.

Breaking Through the Fear of Mistakes

I realized something while rebooting my routine: the fear of making mistakes is far worse than the mistakes themselves. After a long break, there’s a pressure to prove to yourself that you still have it. But this need for validation is often what keeps you stuck.

I’ve written countless drafts that have gone nowhere since I started writing again. But that doesn’t bother me. It took me time to unlearn the idea that every piece of writing had to carry meaning. The truth is, mistakes are part of the process, and they carry their own lessons.

Once I let go of the fear of producing something “wrong,” I began to see writing not as a final product but as a living, breathing process. Some days I’d write only to delete every word the next day. Some pieces would start out as one thing, only to morph into something entirely different. That’s the beauty of coming back after a break. It gives you the freedom to evolve.

The Slow Return

It’s tempting to want your writing routine to return to what it once was, but I’ve learned that after a long break, the best thing you can do is embrace a slower pace. Writing, like any craft, requires patience—patience with the process, patience with yourself.

There are days now when the words come easier, and days when they don’t. But I no longer view those off days as a failure; they’re simply part of the rhythm. And in that slow return, I’ve rediscovered why I loved writing in the first place: not for the product, but for the process, for the feeling of being present with the page, even when it feels unfamiliar.

A New Beginning

In many ways, rebooting your writing routine after a long break is a new beginning. You’re not the same person you were before, and your writing reflects that. There’s a depth that comes from stepping away and coming back.

The beauty of this return lies in its imperfection. It’s messy, slow, and uncertain, but it’s real. And in that realness, you find yourself again, one word at a time.