Writing after a few misses sucks big time. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve been here before or how many inspirational articles I’ve read about the extreme benefits of writing every day.

The hollowness in my chest, the pit inside my stomach, and the massive throbbing self-doubt telling me that I don’t know what I am doing are as impactful and omnipresent as ever.

I would like to think that I’ve grown. That I’ve taken the time to process my negative feelings of loss, pain, and disappointment. That I’ve figured a few solutions out over time.