For seven years I was unable to write. I thought I had some kind of writer's block but was unable to put a finger on it. I blamed it on the feeling of duty to take care of my mother. I blamed it on this new house that was bought for her, and thought it was not for me—not enough light, not in the right neighborhood, not in the right town. I spent my days working to make the house "right," making the yard the way I wanted it. Everything I did wasn't "right" and I'd do it over.

My computer was full of writing I'd done before I came home to take care of Mama, yet when I sat down to write all that came to me was a blank page and blank feelings. 

Recently I found a book, The Artist's Way, by Julia Cameron. I'd heard about it in some of the writing classes I'd started taking, and even tried writing "pages" first thing each morning. Somehow, it didn't work. I'd sit at the computer, becoming more and more frustrated. After I read the first few chapters of the book, I thought I'd try again. This time I'd write with a pen on paper. 

That worked. Each morning I took my cup of coffee, settled into the recliner, put my feet up, and wrote. That pen seemed to keep writing, all kinds of things. And I enjoyed writing, and wrote whatever came in my head.

While writing one morning I was trying to find out what had caused the heaviness in my chest and what had caused me not to be able to write in this new location. 

Why had so many things gone wrong with the house, electrical problems, roof leaking, air-conditioning not working; the problems didn't stop. Why did I have such enormous problems with the IRS? I'd get one or two years settled and more would come. They audited four back years and sent me a bill for more than I'd had in income in those years. 

During those past seven years I'd had four major surgeries, including cancer. The most serious surgery was artery blockages from my heart downward, both sides. Because of so many surgeries, scar tissue blocked the intestines so every three or four months I found myself in the hospital to have my stomach pumped. Surgery for clearing that up only added more scar tissue and caused more blockages. 

I thought the writer’s block was showing in my body. 

When my mother died, I found that the responsibility I felt for her was not the problem. The heaviness was still there, as though my chest were some kind of concrete or brick wall that nothing could penetrate. Then one morning while writing I remembered that my ex-husband had died just as I moved here. And he died without having paid me what was promised in the divorce decree. My therapist said that if I forgave my ex-husband, since the IRS problems were connected with him, probably the IRS problems would be solved. 

Next morning, in addition to my coffee, pen and paper, I lit lots of candles and set about forgiving Dick for all the things he'd done, not just the money things. I got out a picture of him and talked to him and forgave him for everything and asked him to forgive me. Then I felt better, but the heaviness was still in my chest.

As I was writing, the thought came to me that I hadn't forgiven myself. Wow! That was not as easy as forgiving Dick.  

It was almost as though I'd hit that stone wall with a bell. I could feel the vibrations in my chest. Truth! Real truth! It wasn't what these other people had done; it was what I was doing to myself. Forgiving myself was not as easy as forgiving others. However, when I'd worked it through and gotten up from the chair, my whole body was lighter. The heaviness in my chest was gone! 

Then I could write. Ideas and thoughts seemed to pop out of nowhere. It wasn't a writer's block, it was an emotional block that kept me from writing.

Within a week, I received three checks from the school system that I'd been trying to get for seven years, IRS accepted the offer I made, and I found someone to live in the downstairs apartment to help care for the house and the yard.

Why do we call it a "writer’s block?" Now that I've unblocked the emotional part of myself, writing is no longer blocked.

Dee Oglesby is the author of Teachah Don't Know Nothin

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