In the last part of the story (Part 2), we explored how limiting patterns kept me trapped in cycles of frustration—and that addressing the issue through external solutions only didn’t work.
'There’s another ten minutes 'til lunch,' the writing tutor said, checking the old-fashioned station clock on the wall. 'Who's burning to read out their piece?'
There were eleven of us around the oak table—Suzannah, the tutor, and ten students—in an old farmhouse on a residential retreat called 'Starting to Write.' For years, I'd been collecting fragments—ideas, observations, moments—but never sharing them. My fear of judgement had compelled me to keep my words private. Being at this retreat represented my first real commitment to breaking that pattern, to finding structure and guidance for the stories that bubbled up daily but remained hidden from the world.
We'd been set the task to write to someone we hadn't seen for a long time. This letter wasn't intended to be sent—it was more about capturing the loss and longing that come with absence. Writing it felt amazing: words after words that seemed to construct themselves. Like 'laying a path,' as writer Annie Dillard puts it in The Writing Life: ‘making it boldly, following it fearfully, going wherever it led.’
This state of flow felt like a miracle.
As each participant shared their writing, I felt a growing, electric hum: a yearning to read.
But I held back, as I always had. The familiar pattern of silencing myself was playing out yet again.
Then, with ten minutes left, there was Suzannah's invitation: who’s burning to read out their piece?
I noticed a familiar sensation, one that happened every time I wanted to cry but held in tears, like a bruise all the way down my windpipe. Nevertheless, something was tipping me headlong into speaking—and into the unknown.
Involuntarily, it seemed, my hand went up.
When I finished reading, I looked up. Around the table, some were nodding. Some were crying. Actually crying. There was a look on their faces of 'I know this feeling, this loss, this grief.'
It was the first time I saw—and let in—that my words held potency and emotional truth.
A portal had been opened. And through that portal came a vital insight: the fear holding me back not only obstructed my self-expression, keeping parts of me closed off, it prevented me from sharing something that could impact others in a powerful way. This wasn't just about writing—it was about the universal human tendency to dim our light out of fear, to hold back our gifts from a world that sorely needs them.
The holding back was my ego wanting protection, preventing me from sharing my luminosity: what I could offer; what could transform the way others see, think and feel. The simple act of raising my hand had broken through years of self-imposed silence.
That realisation not only coloured the rest of my time on the retreat, it changed the course of my creative future. I began to approach my writing not as a private indulgence but as a form of connection—a bridge between my experience and that of others. The tools I'd gained—that recognition of limiting patterns and challenging inner narratives, which we explored in Part 2—suddenly had a clear purpose: to free my authentic voice.
On the final evening, we shared in an informal performance of our work and I read aloud, illuminated by stage lights, a short story—the first I'd completed since I was a teenager. No longer was I writing in isolation; I was writing to be heard, to connect, to serve.
And on departure day, as I was preparing to leave the farmhouse, Suzannah approached and asked if I'd consider applying to the MFA program in novel writing she was directing.
'But I'm not even writing a novel,' I said. I couldn't imagine how I'd get to a completed novel from the short pieces I'd been writing so far.
Suzannah waved that away. 'Oh, don't worry about that. Just come. Come and write.'
Within six months of that retreat, I'd not only begun my novel but had established a daily writing practice that felt sustainable and joyful rather than forced. The feedback from those first public readings confirmed what I'd glimpsed that day around the oak table: when we share our authentic truth, we create space for others to recognise and embrace their own. This was the first evidence that my new approach—writing from vulnerability rather than safety—was working. I was combining my analytical mind with my emotional truth, amplifying what I was able to create and the impact it could have.
The breaking point, the insight, and these initial results weren't just changing my writing—they were transforming how I showed up in every area of my life.
What’s next?
If there’s something you’re longing to create (a writing project, an artistic creation or new venture) but need more courage and guidance, I’m here to support you expand the power of your self-expression.
Here’s how I can help:
Make an appointment for a virtual coffee (free). I hold 3-4 slots every month so we can get to know each other. Perfect if you’re curious about meeting new people and making connections.
Book a 30-minute connection call (free). This is for anyone—whether you have an idea you want to brainstorm, an issue that’s holding you back, or you just want to know more about my work. Think of it as a microdose of powerful coaching that can help point you in the right direction!
Read my manifesto for creative courage (free). Learn about the core principles I work with in my own creativity and business and follow in serial form the journey of how I came to found Wordplay Coaching.
Inquiry of Writing, an intimate group coaching experience. We meet twice a month—in which we use writing as a tool for curiosity, exploration and transformation. Respond to powerful questions, in discussion and in writing; share your experience; get feedback on what you’ve written. Get the support and connection you need to gain clarity about your life and creativity, and develop your confidence. This is currently full but talk to me about joining the waiting list.
Creative Essence 1:1 coaching. Personal guidance to work with you on recognising your survival mechanisms and the fears that hold you back from expressing yourself fully. Twice-monthly deep dives on Zoom plus individualised support between sessions. This is ideal for you if you’re looking for deep transformation and powerful support to make changes in your life or with a creative project.
Pure inspiration!