what fuels you?

I remember watching Taylor Swift perform in an NPR tiny desk concert once, and during her performance, she said, “I’ve gotten a question over and over again that I think has the potential to seriously deteriorate my mental health. The question is, ‘What will you ever do if you get happy? Like, what will you write about? Will you just never be able to write a song again?’” She goes on to say that she would usually laugh off the question, but then when she would go home, she would sit and stare off and that question would haunt her: “What would happen if I was ever happy? Would I not be able to do the thing I love the most in the world? Would I not be able to write breakup songs anymore? I love break-up songs; they’re so fun to write!”

Why am I sharing this random interview snippet? Because I had a similar thought last week about my writing. Stay with me. 

Over the past four years, I’ve written three books very quickly due to a mixture of determination, pluck, and a heavy helping of extreme anxiety. On one hand, that anxiety has pushed me to go go go, to keep striving and reaching and searching and seeking—which all sound like good things, but when it’s coming from a place of fear, an unquenchable yearning to be good enough (whatever that means?), it’s actually horribly exhausting. Even when you get three beautiful books out of it. Even when you’re extremely proud of those books. It’s a tough pill to swallow, and I hate admitting it even to just myself, but part of my writing has always been fueled by this thirst, this hunger, this unending need to prove myself. 

So why have Taylor Swift’s words been bouncing around inside my head this week? Because lately, I haven’t been able to stick with my writing schedule. I say that I’m going to write, and then I just…don’t. And that’s left me feeling shaken and unsure. 

What would happen if I was ever happy? Would I not be able to do the thing I love the most in the world? 

In the past, I’ve flown through the drafting process. If I said I would write every day, then I would. Absolutely. If I had to stay up until 3 am, to get it done, so be it. That was just the price I paid for my commitment to my craft. And while I’m still a big believer in commitment, I’m also learning to be an even bigger believer in grace. 

At the beginning of 2024, I asked God what He wanted for me this year. The answer came quickly. I want this to be your year of letting go.

I instantly knew what He meant: a year of letting go of my fears and my anxious thoughts, all the things that keep me stuck and mildly miserable. That’s what God wants for me. He didn’t say that this would be the year I’d write a best-seller, start making more money on my books, or grow my social media following. No, He has a quieter, infinitely more loving plan for me. He wants me to be happier; He wants me to let go and find peace through Him and His Son. 

So that’s what I’ve been focusing on this year. I’ve got my eyes locked on Jesus as He walks me down this path, as He loosens my grip on my pen and takes it in His own hands to write me a new and better story, one that isn’t tangled in anxiety, one that isn’t fueled by the thirst to prove myself or the hunger for acceptance. He is the Living Water and the Bread of Life, and He is teaching me that He is more than enough. 

But with this newly found grace, I can’t help but fear that I’ve lost my edge. Because as the Lord softens my heart, I have a lot more compassion for myself.

“It’s okay that you didn’t have time to write today. You’re tired—go to bed instead.” 

“You didn’t write today, but you made a good dinner for your family and you read books with your kids instead. That’s okay!” 

“You didn’t have the emotional energy to write today because sometimes going to therapy wears you out. That’s okay. We’re doing some heavy lifting now, but it won’t always be this way.” 

So if my writing isn’t fueled by anxiety, will I keep writing? 

I know the answer now: Yes. Absolutely. I will keep writing. I might need to learn new rhythms, and I might experience some growing pains as I stretch beyond the methods I used before, but I will keep showing up. 

The words will come. And I will be ready for them when they do. 

Because I know now better than I did before that God wants good things for us. He wants that for me and He wants that for you. So maybe this is the year you loosen your grip on what you thought you wanted or thought you knew. Maybe this is the year you finally recognize that God’s plans are always greater than yours. Maybe this is the year that He will take the things you love and the gifts He's given you and He will magnify them in new and exciting ways. Different ways. Softer ways. 

He doesn’t want you to be fueled by anything other than Him. He wants more for you.

We can be happy and still write the break-up songs.

We can let go of our fears and still find the words.

Through Him and with Him, we can.