Anxious But Writing Anyway: How anxiety shows up in the creative process, and how to write through it

Photo by Christopher Ott on Unsplash

Anxiety is a master of disguise. It is so good at masking itself that for a long time I had

no idea I was living with it.

Despite what popular shows and movies might portray it as, the fact is that anxiety doesn’t always look like a racing heart or sweaty palms. For example, my anxiety usually shows up as knives in my stomach and migraines. As writers, sometimes it shows up in your writing life as things like procrastination, perfectionism, or a sudden, desperate need to declutter your entire house or reorganize your bookshelf instead of facing the blinking cursor.

When I think of anxiety, I picture a chaotic, messy-haired, nail-bitten character living in my brain (and often, driving the bus of my life). There have been times when I’ve become so anxious that I’ve shut down and avoided writing (and other things I enjoy) altogether.

Why is it that anxiety has so much power? Where does anxiety come from? What will make the anxiety go away? These are million-dollar questions that I spend my professional career helping others explore, and the truth is that none of them are all that easy to answer.

Speaking for myself, I can confidently say that I have no idea why anxiety has so much power over me, though I have an idea as to where it came from, and sometimes I think that I know what will make it go away. Having both been in my own therapy on and off my entire life and being a Licensed Psychotherapist, I tend to… well, analyze myself a lot.

I usually try to see things from what we would refer to as a “Parts Perspective.” This comes from a model of therapy called Internal Family Systems (IFS). The core idea is that we each have many “Parts” of ourselves (inner sub-personalities) that hold different emotions, beliefs, and roles. These Parts show up in our lives in different ways depending on the situation. For example, when I’m at work, a specific Part (or version) of myself steps in (one that knows how to manage my job effectively). When I feel anxiety or fear, a different Part may step forward. Each Part has good intentions, often trying to protect us or help us cope, even if their strategies don’t always serve us well.

Quick Guide to “Parts Work” (for the non-therapists out there):

Think of yourself like a team, and each team member has a different job. One Part might be your “confident speaker” who runs the show at work. Another might be your “perfectionist” who polishes every sentence. Another might be the “worrier” who tries to keep you safe by imagining every possible thing that could go wrong. In IFS, the goal isn’t to fire these Parts, it’s to understand them, work with them, and help them find new roles that support you instead of holding you back.

Now let’s examine life as a creative person…

For creative people, anxiety often lurks in the spaces between inspiration and action.

You may desperately want to write or create, you may even feel highly inspired and have some grand idea already plotted in some capacity, but your brain is quietly running interference. “What if it’s terrible?” “What if I waste my time?” “What if people hate it, or ignore it entirely?”

All of the creative people I’ve ever met have deep attachments to their identity as a creative person, and to how their work is perceived (and therefore how they are perceived) by others. Sometimes the thought of that alone can stop someone from even trying.

I haven’t written anything I truly planned since 2023. That year, I pushed myself to complete two novels, both of which I’m still proud of, and fully intended to dive into the third in the series. But I found myself stuck.

Though technically fiction, those first two stories touched deeply personal themes. I had poured myself into them, exploring mental health, raw emotions, and echoes of experiences I’d faced earlier in life. The process was cathartic, but also emotionally draining. By the end, I needed to step back from writing to put some distance between myself and particularly challenging content. I needed to process what I’d uncovered, and give myself space to recover. A part of me hates to admit that. Let's call that Part the "Suck it Up, Buttercup," part.

Though I'm speaking of content that is derived from personal experiences, it’s worth noting that even when a writer’s work has nothing to do with their own life, the act of creating is still exhausting, and that truth extends far beyond writing to every creative field.

So how do we work through that stuckness, especially when it maybe has something to do with anxiety? You can write with anxiety (or any emotion). You can even use it as creative fuel.

Just like in Parts work, we don’t have to get rid of the anxiety to start moving in a direction that feels good and maybe even a little productive.

Before we can sort out how to write through the anxiety, we have to first understand how anxiety shows up in our writing.

1. Perfectionism Disguised as “Standards”

   You tell yourself you’re just aiming for excellence, but really, you’re afraid to start because you can’t guarantee the outcome.

2. Over Planning

   You keep researching, outlining, and tinkering with your setup. It feels productive, but it’s often a stall tactic. (Fun fact, I pantsed my entire first novel!)

3. Abandoning Projects Too Soon

   You love the idea in the beginning, but as soon as doubt creeps in or you feel even a little uncertain of where to go next, you jump ship for a “better” one. (How many Works In Progress (WIPs) do you have sitting on your computer?)

4. Self-Critique on Repeat

   You edit the same sentence ten times before you finish the paragraph.

Like I said, you don’t have to banish anxiety to write, you just have to keep the pen (or your fingers) moving! Now that we have an idea of how anxiety shows up in our writing, here are some tips on writing through the anxiety.

1. Lower the stakes

   Give yourself permission to write badly. Remind yourself that the draft isn’t the final word, and no one is reading it over your shoulder as you write. Ask yourself, “are my expectations getting in my way?”

2. Create a safe writing environment

   Choose a space where you feel comfortable, physically and emotionally. A closed door, a playlist, or even writing by hand can help.

3. Use timed sprints

   Set a timer for 10–20 minutes and write without editing. I call this “brain dumping”. Anxiety loves endless time; a timer forces focus.

4. Name the fear

   Say something like, “a Part of me is afraid that this is going to be terrible”. This acknowledges that you’re experiencing the emotion of fear or anxiety, but it also demonstrates that a Part of you feels that way… so how do other Parts feel? Is there a more hopeful Part that thinks and feels something different?

5. Build a “low-anxiety ritual”

   This might be making tea, lighting a candle, or reading a favorite paragraph before you start.

Anxiety doesn’t have to be your enemy. It can be a character, a mood, or tension in your story. Writers are uniquely equipped to turn inner struggles into art, so why not use that anxiety to fuel it?

Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is simply show up on the page, messy, worried, and unsure, and write anyway.