Some Days I Sit Down. Some Days the House Gets Very Clean.

The bathroom is very clean today.

So is the kitchen. And the garage. I organized a drawer that's been chaotic for three years. I answered emails that could've waited a week.

The one thing I haven't done? Open the document.

It's sitting right there. The chair is empty. Nobody's stopping me. I want to sit down. I own the chair. So why does scrubbing grout feel easier than writing the next chapter?

The Monster You Built Yourself

There's something guarding your desk. You can feel it every time you think about sitting down.

It's not external. Nobody's locking you out. There's no real obstacle — no lack of time, no missing equipment, no permission you need.

The monster is invisible. And the worst part? You built it.

Brick by brick. Fear by fear. One avoided session at a time.

I wish I could tell you what it's made of. But it's different for everyone. Maybe one of these sounds familiar.

The Monsters I've Met

Too judgmental: The inner critic shows up before the first word. You're editing a sentence you haven't written. Evaluating an idea before it exists. The draft might be bad — so you never make one. Problem solved. Sort of.

Want to win too bad: Every session has to "count." The stakes feel enormous. This novel has to be the one. This business has to work. This project has to justify all the time you've invested. No pressure.

Unrealistic timeline: You think you should be making money by now. Getting recognition. Seeing results. But the truth? Artists put in years of invisible work before the first dollar. Writers finish whole novels that never see print — just to learn how to write novels. You're not behind. You're just in the unsexy middle, which feels like being behind but isn't.

Pick your flavor. Or blend your own. The specifics vary but the pattern is the same: the monster isn't the work. It's what the work might reveal about you.

Where This Shows Up

In writing: You avoid the draft because it might be bad. And if it's bad, what does that mean about you? The dishes don't ask those questions. The dishes don't judge. The dishes are safe.

In business: You tinker with the logo instead of launching. You redesign the website. You perfect the pitch deck. The logo can't reject you. Customers can.

In life: You prepare endlessly instead of starting. More research. More courses. More getting-ready. Preparation feels productive without the risk of actually doing the thing.

The avoidance always looks productive. That's what makes it so sneaky. You're not watching TV. You're doing useful things. Just... not the thing. Never the thing.

What the Monster Is Really Guarding

I think the work is a mirror. And we're afraid of what we'll see.

If the draft is bad, maybe I'm bad. If the business fails, maybe I'm a failure. If I really try and it doesn't work — what then?

The monster keeps us from ever finding out. Which feels like protection but is actually a trap. Because you also never find out if you're good. If it would've worked. If the fear was lying the whole time.

The avoidance protects you from failure. It also guarantees you never succeed.

I Don't Have a Clean Fix

I want to tell you I've slain this monster. That I have a system, a trick, a guaranteed method.

I don't.

Some days I sit down. Some days the house gets very clean.

What helps — sometimes — is making the first step so small it doesn't wake the monster. Not "write for an hour." Just open the document. Not "finish the chapter." Just write one sentence. Something so tiny the fear doesn't register it as a threat.

And sometimes once I'm in the chair, the monster goes quiet. It's loudest in the hallway, right before I enter the room. Once I'm sitting, it often fades.

Not always. But often enough to try.

The Unsexy Truth About the Unsexy Middle

If you're in year two of something that hasn't paid off yet — you're not failing. You're just in the part nobody photographs.

Every creative person you admire has been here. They just don't talk about it. The years of invisible work aren't a good story. But they're the story.

Your timeline isn't broken. Your expectations might be.

And the monster at your desk? It was built by a brain trying to protect you from disappointment. It's not malicious. Just confused about what's actually dangerous.

The draft won't hurt you. Neither will a bad chapter, a failed launch, a messy start.

The only thing that actually hurts is never trying. And that's what the monster is really offering — a life where you never find out what you could've made.

Try This Today

Don't fight the monster. Sneak past it.

Make your first step so small it barely registers: open the document. Write one sentence. Spend five minutes. Something the fear doesn't recognize as a threat.

The monster is loudest before you sit down. See if it gets quieter once you're actually in the chair.

What's your monster made of?