Last night, I learned you are no longer with us. This morning, I'm writing poetry because it's the only way I know how to greet the grief that's now in the room. Outside, the birds are acting as if it's simply another day. I want to tell them to stop singing, that the world is missing its music.

I want to reach for my phone and call you, like I have a million times before, like I wish you would have, like you used to.

I know I will never hear your voice again, but it vibrates so deeply in my being that if we were talking today, I know exactly how it would sound. If we were talking today, I'd be reading you this poem. If we were talking today, I'd ask you what happens to a voice once it has spoken for the last time.

I put down my coffee and pick up my son. My cup clinks against the dining table. My heart rings with memories. My son makes a nest against my shoulder. Outside, the birds are still singing, and for a moment it's beautiful.

I don't know how a room so loud with joy can be filled with so much sorrow. I don't know how the sound of absence can mean there was once love in its place. I don't know what else to do but turn my ear toward the window and listen.

Meet the Writer

Hi! I’m Danielle Langin, a life-long poet and writer, and mother in bloom. Welcome to Growing Through It—my space on the internet where I share personal essays, poetry and resources for those who are passionate about creativity. I write about home, belonging, creative expression, and the things that make us wonder what it means to be alive. I’m also a big fan of creating community spaces for writers to grow.

Are you Growing Through It, too?

I’d love to invite you to join The Garden—my creative membership for writers and poets who want to build a more intentional writing practice. Inside you’ll find prompts, workshops, co-writing sessions, creative rituals, and a growing library of resources to inspire your writing.

Join The Garden

Want to go even deeper?

💌 For more personalized support, I also offer poetry feedback, editing, and writing mentorship. Email me hello@daniellelangin.com to learn more!

I’ve spent a lot of my writing life believing that in order to be a good writer, I needed to know exactly what to write at any given moment. I would think: surely my writing would be better if I knew exactly what this essay will be about, and exactly what this poem will mean, and exactly what I will write today. I’ll just write about motherhood and it’ll all come together perfectly…

But, that’s not how my best writing happens. In fact, the pieces I’ve loved writing most have almost always had an out of body quality to them. They came from moments that gave me a lump in my throat, from things that stirred my heart, from my willingness to follow a thread of curiosity even when I didn’t know where it would lead.

My best writing usually doesn’t come from a simple idea like “I’ll just write about motherhood,” but rather it comes from a sentence I saw in a book, or a line I read in a poem, or an image I can’t get out of my head. It comes from a memory that lingers, or a question I don’t have the answer to just yet. Maybe it comes from something I jotted down in my notes app, or circled in my journal, or overheard in the grocery store. And, most of the time, it starts as a feeling.

When I’m in the mood to write (which is often), I take this idea, or sentence, or feeling, or overheard conversation, and I follow it. I allow my curiosity to take the wheel and I pull and pull at the threads until I find the place where two or three or four things meet. Where does this want to go? What does it want to reveal? What will I learn here? Will it be simple, or complex? What will it stir in me, if anything? I follow, and write, and I follow, and I write, and eventually, I arrive somewhere I couldn’t have possibly planned from the beginning.

Suddenly, a poem about “just motherhood” has morphed into a memory of my grandmother’s hands, and my mom’s hands holding me, and the way instinctual protection spans across generations.

And that’s the beautiful thing about writing with curiosity: you can have an amazing idea, or no ideas at all, and suddenly you’re somewhere you couldn’t have imagined, learning things you didn’t know you needed to know, and feeling things you probably didn’t realize you needed to feel.

So, lately, when I don’t know what to write about and find myself staring down the barrel of blankness, I begin by asking: What does my curiosity want me to follow? What’s the truest thing I could share right now? What do I need to release? How can this memory take shape? What hard conversations need to be had? How am I feeling?

You don’t need to know what to write to be a good writer, you just need to let your curiosity take the lead. Here are three of my favorite ways to lean into this as a writing practice:

1. Start with what makes you curious

What questions do you find yourself asking at 2 am when your mind won’t settle? What have you always wondered about the way the world works, or your mind, or an ant colony?

Can’t stop thinking about why birds fly south for the winter, or why you miss a certain version of yourself, or what you overheard the women in the gray jacket say at the coffee shop? Good! Follow it! Curiosity is one of your best materials for writing.

2. Pull from the season of life you’re in

Maybe you just became a parent, or lost a loved one, or quit your job. Maybe you’re getting into a new form of art, or healing your wounds, or going on a health journey. Wherever you are in this season, let it be material for the words that want to move through you. And then, when you’ve decided you’re ready to write about it, ask yourself: what else does this make me think about? Why does this matter to me? What associations can I make from this?

5. Follow one thing into another

Some of the most interesting writing starts with one thing and ends with another. Maybe you start with an apple tree, and that apple tree reminds you of fall memories with your family, and those memories remind you of your dad, and how he loves apples, and how you wish you could spend more time with him, and how much of it is fleeting. And next thing you know you’re writing a poem about the smell of an apple pie baking in the oven, and how little time we have to really savor it.

And that, my friends, is how you write when you don’t know what to write about. If this was helpful to you at all, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

And, if you’ve ever found yourself thinking “I don’t know what to write about,” or “I have so many ideas, but I don’t know which one to start with,” this month’s resource guide for paid subscribers will help you untangle those questions.

✨ Below the paywall you’ll find a printable workbook with exercises and prompts to help you turn your ideas into writing you love.

With this workbook, you’ll have a new way of finding things to write about, plus at least 10 possible poems, essays, stories, or explorations for your writing!

Why become a paid subscriber?

As a paid subscriber you’ll receive:

• a monthly guide (like the one below)

• monthly co-writing sessions

• and seasonal workshops

all with the goal of helping you deepen your writing skills and your writing practice.

Upgrade to paid

Read more

What I’m Growing Through in August:

A few weeks ago, I found myself staring at a blank page because I was afraid to write the wrong thing. And, under that fear of writing the wrong thing, is a the fear of not being seen. Of my work being shoved so far down the garbage shoot of the algorithm that no one ever gets to read it.

With social media and TikTok and Substack Notes and virality and AI (and, and, and), it can be easy to get caught up in what we think we should post in order to reach the level of success we see others reach.

But what about what we want to post? What about sharing what’s true instead of what’s trendy? What lights up our soul instead of depletes it? What brings us joy instead of frustration, fear, and jealousy?

These are the questions I’m sitting with this month. Especially as I continue to grow my Substack. How can I show up here with soul? How can I write what’s true and tender and beautiful? And, can I keep showing up even when the truth might turn people away? Might not be what they (the algorithm) wants?

Tell me in the comments:

Do you resonate with this? How do you share your work publicly while retaining the soul and heart of your writing?

Leave a comment

What’s happening in The Garden this month:

→ Your first Monthly Creative Companion will be in your inbox this week.

The Monthly Creative Companion is a thoughtfully curated guide designed to support your writing life throughout the month.

→ Co-Writing Session | August 16 @ 10 am est

Each month, paid subscribers are invited to join me for a virtual co-writing session - a gentle, supportive space to show up for your writing with a community.

Why join The Garden?

The Garden is my creative membership for writers and poets who want a more intentional writing practice, a place to return to when they need inspiration, and the encouragement to live a creative life you love.

As a paid member, you’ll receive:

• Monthly Creative Companion
  A monthly guide featuring journaling prompts, poetry prompts, a creative practice, recommendations, and resources to deepen your writing life.

• (Heart)Work in Progress Series
  Essays from behind the scenes of what it takes to build a creative life. I’ll share what I’m learning, questioning, creating, and the exercises and reflections helping me follow my dreams (so you can follow yours, too).

• Monthly Co-Writing Sessions
  An hour each month to write together in community. Bring your poems, essays, drafts, newsletters, or journal!

• Seasonal Workshops & Gatherings
  Writing workshops and open mics to help you grow as a writer while connecting with people who also care deeply about words.

For everyone (free + paid)

• Essays & Poems from Growing Through It
  My personal essays and poems on creativity, motherhood, belonging, and building a life that feels creative and meaningful.

• Writing Tips & Creative Inspiration
  Reflections, practical guidance, and encouragement for writers & poets who want to create work they feel good about sharing with the world.

  
  Whether you’re writing your first poem or your first book, The Garden is here to inspire you as you grow into the writer you’re meant to be.

Join The Garden

Notes from my desk ✍️📝

This month’s writing goals

• Continue being consistent on Substack! I’ve noticed a huge difference in my readership growth since I’ve made the commitment to go all in on Substack, and show up here 2-4x per month. I want to keep the momentum going!

My journey to full time writer

One of my biggest dreams is to make a living through my writing…here’s an update on how that’s going.

• 🌱 Substack readers: 326 (up 19 from last month… hi, new friends!)

• 🌿 Paid subscribers: 10 (Welcome to the community, Jenna & Katie!)

• 📝 Editing clients: I'm currently working with two clients — one with essays, and another with a memoir!

• 🌼 One thing I’m celebrating: This community! I love having you in my corner. Thank you for being here!

Meet the Writer

Hi! I’m Danielle Langin, a life-long poet and writer, and mother in bloom. Welcome to Growing Through It—my space on the internet where I share personal essays, poetry and resources for those who are passionate about creativity. I write about home, belonging, creative expression, and the things that make us wonder what it means to be alive. I’m also a big fan of creating community spaces for writers to grow.

Are you Growing Through It, too?

I’d love to invite you to join The Garden—my creative membership for writers and poets who want to build a more intentional writing practice. Inside you’ll find prompts, workshops, co-writing sessions, creative rituals, and a growing library of resources to inspire your writing.

Join The Garden

Want to go even deeper?

💌 For more personalized support, I also offer poetry feedback, editing, and creative coaching sessions. Email me hello@daniellelangin.com to learn more!

the world would not stop spinning, and there is a lump in my left breast—
the same as the one I’ve been carrying in my throat ever since headlines
started sounding like an obituary. There are lights going out on children,

and entire cities caught in a fiery rage, and a white house that does not know
it is made out of glass. In fairytales, the carriage makes its way home
before turning back into a pumpkin, and I used to think a doorway needed

a magical beginning, but life never arrives that way. Instead grief hands you
the map folded in on itself and asks you to point toward the future.
And, I don’t think there’s a God, but the other day I learned they

dropped poetry over Barcelona, paper instead of bombs, because sometimes beauty is the only protest we have left. Sometimes we have to sit with a violent thunderstorm in order to memorize the smell of rain. Sometimes we have to

notice the people at the grocery store, remind ourselves miracles take place
in the womb of a woman, that the Earth has never demanded that spring come all at once. Sometimes we have to realize there is a river running through us,

that none of this natural world believes it is broken.

Meet the Writer

Hi! I’m Danielle Langin, a life-long poet and writer, and mother in bloom. Welcome to Growing Through It—my space on the internet where I share personal essays, poetry and resources for those who are passionate about creativity. I write about home, belonging, creative expression, and the things that make us wonder what it means to be alive. I’m also a big fan of creating community spaces for writers to grow.

Are you Growing Through It, too?

I’d love to invite you to join The Garden—my creative membership for writers and poets who want to build a more intentional writing practice. Inside you’ll find prompts, workshops, co-writing sessions, creative rituals, and a growing library of resources to inspire your writing.

Join The Garden

Want to go even deeper?

💌 For more personalized support, I also offer poetry feedback, editing, and writing mentorship. Email me hello@daniellelangin.com to learn more!

]

I’ve been staring at this blank page for ten minutes now.

I do that sometimes…stare blankly. Stare hopefully. Stare, waiting for something—anything—to land in my heart so I can bring it into the world. A couple of months ago, I gave myself the lofty goal of writing weekly on Substack. I say lofty because I’m also a mom. And a wife. And a friend. And an employee. So, making this goal of sitting down to write every single week is…a lot. A lot of extra time, energy, and brain power that I don’t always have.

So, I stare. And I wait.

And I wait some more. And I maybe even take a deep breath.

Until, finally, my heart whispers “what is the truest thing you can share right now?” Not the unfinished ideas I have accumulating in my notes app. Not the thing I think I should write because it’ll make my readers happy. Not what the world wants to hear… What’s true in this moment?

It’s 9:15 at night on a Wednesday. My son is sleeping, the house is dimly lit, and my husband’s calm presence is sitting across from me on the couch. The air conditioner is droning a low hum in the background. I can hear my dog snoring from across the room. And what’s true for me right now is that I wish there was more time.

More time to create. More time to love. More time to notice the ordinary miracle of being here, in this moment, before it slips into memory.

In all of this ever-changing, unpredictable life, I keep asking myself how do I want to spend my time?

Where am I giving too much of it away?

Why does it feel like there’s never enough?

Between chasing a toddler through the house and saying goodbye to people I love, time has become something I am hyper aware of.

I notice it in the way my son’s new shoes already don’t fit. In the phone calls I can no longer make. In the conversations I wish I had one more chance to have.

The truth is that motherhood has made time feel smaller, and grief has made it feel so incredibly fragile. Time is what you make it, I suppose.

I keep thinking about these lines I wrote in a poem recently:

In fairytales, the carriage makes its way home
before turning back into a pumpkin, and I used to think a doorway needed

a magical beginning, but life never arrives that way. Instead grief hands you
the map folded in on itself and asks you to point toward the future.

I think time hands you this same map—folded in on itself, refusing to reveal the directions, asking you “what will you do with your one wild and precious life?”

If Mary Oliver were sitting next to me right now, I imagine she’d tell me that time isn’t about finding more hours. It’s about noticing the ones you’ve already been given.

Maybe, she’d tell me that the life I’ve been looking for, the one I keep wishing I had more time to live, is already here…in the calm of a Wednesday evening, in the sound of my dog snoring, in the soft hum of the air conditioner, in the blank page waiting for me to tell the truth.

Maybe that’s why a blank page eventually turns into a full one.

Because deep down, I already know what the words are asking of me: to pay attention to this one precious, unpredictable, joyful life.

A gentle invitation:

Before you close this essay, look around the room you’re in. Notice three things that bring joy to your life. Then write about one of them for ten minutes.

Subscribe now

Meet the Writer

Hi! I’m Danielle Langin, a life-long poet and writer, and mother in bloom. Welcome to Growing Through It—my space on the internet where I share personal essays, poetry and resources for those who are passionate about creativity. I write about home, belonging, creative expression, and the things that make us wonder what it means to be alive. I’m also a big fan of creating community spaces for writers to grow. I think you’ll find pretty quickly that I love helping people return to themselves through writing, creativity, and reflection. All of my resources have been created with the intention to help you fall in love with writing regardless of where you are on your journey.

If you’re longing for a deeper creative practice, I’d love to welcome you into The Garden, my paid creative space for writers and poets who want to reconnect with their voice. Inside, you’ll find guided journaling sessions, poetry prompts, creative rituals, co-writing gatherings, workshops, and a growing library of resources designed to help you tend to your creativity in a meaningful way.

Join The Garden

Want to go deeper into your writing life?

💌 For more personalized support, I also offer poetry feedback, editing, and creative coaching sessions. Email me hello@daniellelangin.com to learn more!

What I’m Growing Through in July: following the call of my (heart)work

I’ve been journaling a lot recently about how tired my soul is. This could probably be an essay on it’s own, but how do we follow our heartwork (the work we’re here to do. the work we’re passionate about. the work that opens our heart to gratitude) when we are too exhausted to do so? When we have a million other tasks and responsibilities that need tending to? When there’s dishes and laundry and babies (beautiful babies) and day jobs and corporate America and, and, and. I wish I had the answer, but unfortunately, I don’t.

What I do know is this: my soul feels alive when I am nourishing my passions. When I take the time to write, to journal, to read poetry, to connect with my community, to keep dancing this dance with what wants to be created through me.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever get to a point where I don’t feel tired on a physical, emotional, and mental level. I’m not sure if the weight of everything I hold will ever get lighter. But, for the sake of my heart, I have to keep going. I have to write the things, and follow the dreams, and embrace the art that’s alive in my soul. Otherwise, what would be the point?

This Month’s Theme: aka, what we’re tending to

What would it look like if we allowed ourselves the space to tend to our heartwork? To really spend time with the passions that beckon us? To work on the book or the project that’s calling to us even when we are tired? Would it make us less tired? Would it give us energy? Maybe! It could be a good thing to explore this month. I would love to hear your thoughts on this in the comments. And, as you move through the month, I hope the prompts below invite you to make a little space for what it is you’re growing through.

Prompts for you to sit with

🌿 If fear, money, other people’s expectations, and fatigue disappeared for one year, how would you spend your creative energy?

🌿 What passion or project keeps returning, and what part of you comes alive when you engage with it?

🌿 What part of your dream life can you begin living today, even in small ways?

Here’s what you’ll find in The Garden this month

The Garden is a creative space within Growing Through It for writers, poets, and creatives tending to their inner lives and creative practices.

Upcoming Gatherings:

→ Poetry in The Garden: Finding Your Voice | July 8 @ 7 pm est

Poetry in The Garden is a seasonal poetry workshop. Each workshop is designed for both poetry writers and poetry lovers. Our July workshop is dedicated to discovering and deepening your poetic voice.

Not ready to join The Garden? Register for the workshop here and pay what you can.

→ Co-Writing Session | July 19 @ 10 am est

Each month, paid subscribers are invited to join me for a virtual co-writing session - a gentle, supportive space to show up for your writing with a community.

To join our community gatherings and access The Resource Library, become a paid subscriber for only $5/ month, the cost of your daily matcha latte. 😘

Join The Garden

Notes from my desk ✍️📝

What I’m loving

• Writing on my patio in the sunshine!

• Journaling daily!

This month’s writing goals

• Grow my audience on Substack by being consistent!

My journey to full time writer

One of my biggest dreams is to make a living through my writing…here’s an update on how that’s going.

• 🌱 Substack readers: 307 (up 7 from last month)

• 🌿 Paid subscribers: 9 (same as last month)

• 🎤 Spoken word: I’ll be participating in two paid poetry events in July!

• 📚 What I’m working on: Two programs: one for following your calling and another for poets

• 🌼 One thing I'm celebrating: My willingness to keep going with my dreams even when it’s hard

🌸 Thanks for meeting me in the garden! See you next month!

Meet the Writer

Hi! I’m Danielle Langin, a life-long poet and writer, and mother in bloom. Welcome to Growing Through It—my space on the internet where I share personal essays, poetry and resources for those who are passionate about creativity. I write about home, belonging, creative expression, and the things that make us wonder what it means to be alive. I’m also a big fan of creating community spaces for writers to grow. I think you’ll find pretty quickly that I love helping people return to themselves through writing, creativity, and reflection. All of my resources have been created with the intention to help you fall in love with writing regardless of where you are on your journey.

Want to go deeper into your writing life?

💌 For more personalized support, I also offer poetry feedback, editing, and creative coaching sessions. Email me hello@daniellelangin.com to learn more!

The other day as I was watching my one year old son explore the world, I thought about all of the ways motherhood has shifted my center of gravity. Not just in my identity–but in my capacity to hold different emotions, my eagerness to create a better world, and the ways I view life now that I’m not the one at the center of it.

The truth is, before becoming pregnant, and even up until the moment I gave birth, I was terrified to become a mother. I constantly worried that I wouldn’t be able to hold the weight of what it actually means to nurture a human completely separate from yourself. That I wouldn’t be capable of anything this big. Now, I’m just terrified to be a bad mother, but you can read about that here.

Pre-pregnancy, pre-baby, pre-’I’m a mom now and nothing else is quite as important’ me could have never in a million years fathomed that she was more than capable of holding this much responsibility at once. This much love. This much care. This much challenge. This much strength. This much duality.

And, so, I put together a list of the 12 most important things I’ve learned in my first year of motherhood. One, as a love note to my past self; two, as a love note to the person I am today; and three, as a reminder to those who need to hear that motherhood can be a choice worth making. Even on the hardest days.

1. My body is more capable than I ever realized

In March of 2025, I labored for 11 hours unmedicated before giving birth to my beautiful baby boy. At one point, minutes before transition, I was telling anyone in the room who would listen that I couldn’t do it. As my nurse rubbed my back, she shared that when pioneer women were traveling in wagons, they would know they needed to stop somewhere soon when they started feeling like they couldn’t do it anymore. When they started screaming the words “I can not do this. Make it stop.” Then, they did what all women do during birth. They did it anyway. I can remember listening to her and thinking “I don’t know how they did it. I could never,” all while I was, in fact, doing the very same thing…giving birth to a new life. With my body!! MY body!! Incredible.

2. *I* am more capable than I realized (physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually)

Birth, postpartum, being someone else’s entire world–even at times when you feel like your own is falling apart–man, what a way to learn that I am capable of handling life. Of waking up every day and choosing to turn toward joy. And, when I can’t find the joy, making the decision to give myself compassion, to work through it, to ask for help.

3. It’s okay to lean on people

Speaking of asking for help… I’ve never been good at it. Even today, it’s something I’m still learning and practicing. But there’s something about motherhood, and I imagine parenthood in general, that requires you to be okay with it sometimes. It really does take a village. And if you’re not willing to let that village in, you’re going to struggle more than you need to.

4. Motherhood will force you to look at things you need to look at

Your insecurities, your impatience, your rage, your dreams, your hopes, your fears, your joy…your everything. Every part of you, every thought, every feeling, becomes something to crack open and discover. Why do you feel that way? Why do you want this? How can you be better?

5. Everyone was right when they said it was hard

Motherhood is hard. Parenthood is hard. It will challenge you in every sense of the word. There’s not much to write about here. Everyone was right! I should have listened.

6. Everyone was right when they said it was beautiful/amazing/life changing

And, I should have listened when they said it was beautiful, too. Because goodness, even in the most challenging moments, when I feel like I can’t catch my breath, my son will give me a smile, or an open mouthed kiss, or laugh, and it’s like sunshine fills the whole room. I don’t think I really realized how much happiness tiny beings can hold or offer when the whole world feels like it’s crumbling. It’s something I hold onto every single day.

7. Being busy is actually fulfilling

I thought I was busy before becoming a mom. Now, my time is truly a commodity. I have to intentionally fill the time I do have with things and people that light me up. And, we try to stay busy to keep our little guy exploring and curious and content. Our calendars are full! And we love it, actually! We’re tired! But we’re also happy to be experiencing so much richness in life!

8. Not everyone will love/respect/be there for this new version of you

This was one of the hardest parts of parenthood that I wasn’t expecting at all. People who you’ve known for years suddenly not talking to you. People you’ve known your whole life suddenly not showing up or being present. People disappearing despite all the years and times you were there for them. People only wanting to see your baby and not you. It’s a bit of a trip to feel like your entire social circle is being rearranged. Some will rearrange themselves around you and your new life, and some will leave it. It can be lonely sometimes, but that’s why creating and finding a new village of people who will be there for you in this chapter is so important to so many.

9. Just because you’re no longer the center of your own universe, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to take care of yourself

I am the best mom I can be when I take time every week, even in little ways, to take care of myself. It’s really as simple as that.

10. It’s okay to need medication

That’s it. It’s okay to need meditation. Period.

11. Expectations are actually drowning you

When I was pregnant, my midwife brought up expectations in multiple appointments. She would tell us that being a parent, above everything, is about releasing expectations. Expectations that your pregnancy will go a certain way, that your child will act a certain way, believe a certain way, end up a certain way. Those conversations are something I’ve carried with me into this first year of motherhood. Every once in a while, when I’m feeling overwhelmed or out of control, I ask myself “is there an expectation here that I’m holding onto that needs to be let go?” Sometimes it’s an expectation I’ve placed on myself, sometimes on my husband, my baby, and even the world. Either way, it’s always a resounding “yes, release it, let it go.”

12. Life is a gift

My goodness life is a gift!!! And I’m so glad I get to live it.

Thank you for reading. 🤍

Meet the Writer

Hi! I’m Danielle Langin, a life-long poet and writer, and mother in bloom. Welcome to Growing Through It—my space on the internet where I share personal essays, poetry and resources for those who are passionate about creativity. I write about home, belonging, creative expression, and the things that make us wonder what it means to be alive. I’m also a big fan of creating community spaces for writers to grow. I think you’ll find pretty quickly that I love helping people return to themselves through writing, creativity, and reflection. All of my resources have been created with the intention to help you fall in love with writing regardless of where you are on your journey.

If you’re longing for a deeper creative practice, I’d love to welcome you into The Garden, my paid creative space for writers and poets who want to reconnect with their voice. Inside, you’ll find guided journaling sessions, poetry prompts, creative rituals, co-writing gatherings, workshops, and a growing library of resources designed to help you tend to your creativity in a meaningful way.

Join The Garden

Want to go deeper into your writing life?

💌 For more personalized support, I also offer poetry feedback, editing, and creative coaching sessions. Email me hello@daniellelangin.com to learn more!

What I’m Growing Through in June: craving space to just be (offline)

It can be difficult as a creative to not feel as though you need to be posting on every platform, every day, with as much energy as you put into the thing you actually love doing.

…And, it can be soul sucking! I don’t think I need to say much here, because my guess is that if you’re a creative who wants to put their work out into the world, you understand where I’m coming from and have possibly felt the same.

I’m burnt out with socials! And doing all of the things! And trying to force myself to be anyone other than Danielle, the writer. Danielle, the poet. Danielle, the person who loves to create and make things with my hands and connect to the beauty of the world through art.

So, I’ve taken a step back from social media and have decided to only post long form.

Meaning, I’m only making a commitment to Substack (and maybeeee YouTube if I’m feeling like it, but absolutely not pressuring myself to do so.)

Making this shift has been huge for me. I feel so clear and inspired! And my inner writer feels like she can actually show up and get the work done without having to spiral around the expectations that come with posting on apps like Instagram and TikTok. What a relief!

This Month’s Theme: aka, what we’re tending to

All of that being said, what would it look like if we made space this month? Space in our minds, our creative practices, our lives in general? What would it look like to do less, make space for what really matters, and let go of the noise so we can actually hear what our soul’s are craving? I would love to hear your thoughts on this in the comments. And, as you move through the month, I hope the prompts below invite you to make a little space for what it is you’re growing through.

Prompts for you to sit with

🌿 If I stopped trying to keep up with everyone else, what would I discover?

🌿 What am I holding onto simply because I think I should?

🌿 Imagine your inner world as a garden: Which areas feel overgrown? Which have been neglected? Which are blooming?

Welcome to The Garden (an introduction)

The Garden is a creative space within Growing Through It for writers, poets, and creatives tending to their inner lives and creative practices.

And I created it because I needed it, too. 🌿

I wanted a place to reconnect with creativity, write alongside others, and remember why we make art in the first place. So I built The Garden: a growing collection of workshops, resources, and gatherings designed to help us create the meaningful lives in the way we crave: through our poetry, our writing, and our art.

Here’s what you’ll find in The Garden

Upcoming Gatherings:

→ Poetry in The Garden: Finding Your Voice | July 8 @ 7 pm est

Poetry in The Garden is a seasonal poetry workshop. Each workshop is designed for both poetry writers and poetry lovers. Our July workshop is dedicated to discovering and deepening your poetic voice.

→ Co-Writing Session | July 19 @ 10 am est

Each month, paid subscribers are invited to join me for a virtual co-writing session - a gentle, supportive space to show up for your writing with a community.

To join our community gatherings and access The Resource Library, become a paid subscriber for only $5/ month, the cost of your daily matcha latte. 😘

Join The Garden

Notes from my desk ✍️📝

What I’m loving

• Connecting with other writers here on Substack

• Writing poems late at night when my son goes to sleep

• Getting back into my daily journal habit!!!

This month’s writing goals

• Write a weekly essay/article for Substack

• Create a self-study curriculum for poetry

My journey to full time writer

One of my biggest dreams is to make a living through my writing—Not only by sharing my work, but by building a thoughtful community who loves words the way I do. I thought it would be fun to share a few BTS updates each month so you can follow along on my progress!

• 🌱 Substack readers: 300

• 🌿 Paid subscribers: 9

• 💛 Freelance update: I’m grateful to be supporting one poetry editing client and one writing commission client

• 📚 What I’m working on: Writing long form essays and sharing my poems

• ✍️ Biggest lesson lately: Growth is allowed to be slow!!

• 🌼 One thing I'm celebrating: Making space for my creativity by stepping back from social media

🌸 Thanks for meeting me in the garden! See you next month!

Meet the Writer

Hi! I’m Danielle Langin, a life-long poet and writer, and mother in bloom. Welcome to Growing Through It—my space on the internet where I share personal essays, poetry and resources for those who are passionate about creativity. I write about home, belonging, creative expression, and the things that make us wonder what it means to be alive. I’m also a big fan of creating community spaces for writers to grow. I think you’ll find pretty quickly that I love helping people return to themselves through writing, creativity, and reflection. All of my resources have been created with the intention to help you fall in love with writing regardless of where you are on your journey.

Want to go deeper into your writing life?

💌 For more personalized support, I also offer poetry feedback, editing, and creative coaching sessions. Email me hello@daniellelangin.com to learn more!

“Why are you saying that, my love,” his voice grounding me for the moment.
“You’re an amazing mom, where is this coming from?”

Before I realize my mouth is open, I’m listing out 20 reasons why I’m the world’s worst mother today:

I didn’t read him enough books. I didn’t sing enough songs. He only contact naps, and that must be my fault. He’s not sleeping through the night, and that must be my fault. I don’t take him to play group enough. We don’t plan on giving him a sibling. I gasped loudly and scared him when he knocked over the dog’s water bowl for the third time in two days. I really need a break. If I need a break, it must mean I’m not meant to do this. If I need a break, it must mean I don’t love him. That can’t possibly be true, but what if I don’t love him enough?

My husband holds me as I cry. It’s the only thing that makes sense right now. The only thing that deflates the overwhelm and allows my body to melt, just a second, before getting back to my son and his needs.

There are moments in motherhood when I feel like I’m on top of the world…A lioness in the savannah. A fierce protector. The ultimate provider. A strong-willed, resourceful, patient woman who’s sure of her place in the pack. Where there’s not a single inch of doubt or guilt or overwhelm and my whole being vibrates with purpose. Moments where my existence and my son’s existence are so in sync that the joy overflows—filling us both… spilling out everywhere. As obvious as the sun.

Just the other day, we were laying on the couch. I had finished work a little while before, and it was time for him to wind down for a nap.

“I’ll lay with you, mister,” I whispered to him as I pulled him close to my chest. And we giggled and sang songs and shared in a moment of happiness, just the two of us, before he eventually dozed off to sleep.

It was one of those small, but weighty, occasions in motherhood where your chest swells with with a kind of love so big only your children can create it.

And for the first time in what felt like too long to track, I had a fleeting thought that my husband was right. In that moment, I was the lioness. Fierce, protective, present. In that moment, I was a great mom.

Not because I was in a good mood, or because the baby fell asleep happy, but because I was simply there. Completely present with him. Allowing him to become the person he’s going to become in safety, in love, in knowing that no matter the circumstance I will always be there.

That’s when I realized the problem doesn’t lie in whether or not I’m a truly good mother. It’s that I don’t always have the capacity to hold that truth.

On days when the house is a mess,
the tasks of my job are looming,
I have to remember to call this friend,
text this person back,
check the mailbox,
plan dinner,
remember to feed myself…

all the while my son tugging at my pants,
his tiny arms wrapped around my leg,
saying mama over and over,
hoping I’ll scoop him up and hold him

for just this once…

for just one more minute…

and then again…

for just his whole childhood...

for just long enough to remind me:

you are my everything, mama.

—

I am someone’s everything.

That’s what’s hard to hold. That’s what I need to learn to expand into.

That’s the hardest, most beautiful, most gut wrenching part of being a mother. Being another person’s entire world, when you are so close to the edge of your own.

I wrote this months ago, when my son was about 8 months old, because I needed a way to express how overwhelmed I felt as a mom. He wasn’t even walking yet! Now, he’s 14 months, running (literally) everywhere, and while we’ve found a groove and I ease into motherhood every day, I still feel the weight of it all sometimes.

But don’t get me wrong: being his mother is the easy part. My son is a joy. Loving him and caring for him is the best I’ve ever done. Even when I don’t know if I’m doing it right. Even when I don’t know if I’m alright.

What’s hard is balancing this new, all-consuming identity with everything else an adult needs to balance. Relationships. Work. Homemaking. Self care. Even basic hygiene at times. (oof, I know!)

I sometimes wonder if the lioness, or the flamingo, or the deer, or the bunny, or any other of mother nature’s beautiful creatures thinks she’s a bad mom.

Or, is this just a human quality? Have we added so many things to our plate that there’s no room to actually be satisfied? To actually hold it all without something falling off or going to waste? Will mothers ever truly be free of the guilt or the sadness or the overwhelm?

I don’t know the answers.

What I do know is that when my son looks at me, he doesn’t see a to do list. He doesn’t see the unread texts, the work deadlines, or the days when I feel incredibly stretched.

He only sees the woman who sings to him, holds him, feeds him, and comforts him again and again. He only sees me. His world.

Maybe this is what the lioness knows that I keep forgetting: that to our children there is no good or bad. There’s only mama.

Subscribe now

Meet the Writer

Hi! I’m Danielle Langin, a life-long poet and writer, and mother in bloom. Welcome to Growing Through It—my space on the internet where I share personal essays, poetry and resources for those who are passionate about creativity. I write about home, belonging, creative expression, and the things that make us wonder what it means to be alive. I’m also a big fan of creating community spaces for writers to grow. I think you’ll find pretty quickly that I love helping people return to themselves through writing, creativity, and reflection. All of my resources have been created with the intention to help you fall in love with writing regardless of where you are on your journey.

If you’re longing for a deeper creative practice, I’d love to welcome you into The Garden, my paid creative space for writers and poets who want to reconnect with their voice. Inside, you’ll find guided journaling sessions, poetry prompts, creative rituals, co-writing gatherings, workshops, and a growing library of resources designed to help you tend to your creativity in a meaningful way.

Join The Garden

Want to go deeper into your writing life?

💌 For more personalized support, I also offer poetry feedback, editing, and creative coaching sessions. Email me hello@daniellelangin.com to learn more!

And there are seasons where you barely recognize the creative part of yourself at all. Where you stare at a blank page wondering if you can even call yourself a writer (I’ve been there and wrote about it here and here).

The coffee might be flowing, but the caffeine’s not really hitting, and there’s an inner pang of longing and desperation that can’t quite be named.

You want to write. You love to write…

But when you finally sit down, nothing comes out. Or life gets in the way before you can begin. Or the words arrive, but they don’t sound the way you hoped they would once they’re finally on the page.

Maybe you’re overwhelmed. Maybe you’ve spent too much time tending to everyone and everything else. Maybe your creativity has slowly drifted into the background while your responsibilities moved to the front. (hello, motherhood! and life! and being an adult! 👋)

Either way, the truth is this… the creative part of you is still there. Your inner writer is still there… It’s simply waiting to be found again.

That’s why I created The Write Ritual. To bring you back to the heart of your writing. Back to the part of yourself that notices things. The part that feels deeply. The part that longs to make meaning out of being alive.

Because here’s the thing: writing is not separate from who you are. You feel it in your bones and when you sleep at night, and even when you brush your teeth in the morning. It is so woven into your life that it’s still there whether you’ve touched the page recently or not.

Over the course of 10 days, The Write Ritual will guide you through small invitations designed to help you remember that.

My hope with The Write Ritual is that you’ll remember why you love writing in the first place. How when you’re writing you soften into yourself. You notice beauty again. You remember that your voice matters. You come home to who you are.

Inside, you’ll find:

~ 10 days of invitations to write
~ reflections on creativity and resistance
~ simple rituals to reconnect with your love for writing
~ prompts for noticing beauty, emotion, and meaning
~ encouragement for creating if and when you can

+ a private Notion hub to move through at your own pace

Whether you’re coming back to writing after months or years away, trying to rediscover your voice, or simply longing to feel inspired again, The Write Ritual was made for you.

You can purchase it here for $15, or become a paid subscriber for $5/month and receive instant access below.

Paid subscribers also receive access to my growing library of writing resources, monthly co-writing sessions, seasonal gatherings, workshops, and a creative community designed to help you keep returning to the page. 😘

Become a paid subscriber

The rest of this post—including access to The Write Ritual—is available for paid subscribers.

Read more

If you read part one, you’ll know that I struggled with stepping fully into my identity as a writer for years. I tiptoed around confidently saying “I’m a writer” or “I’m a poet” and instead brushed it off as a hobby and something I did for funsies.

But the truth is that writing has always been more to that to me. From the time I understood what a story was, and how to tell one, and how to craft this specific word into this specific sentence in order to convey this specific feeling, I knew that writing would be incredibly important to my life. In fact, it’s so intertwined with my identity that I don’t even know who I am when my thoughts and ideas aren’t kissing the page.

Whether it’s journaling, or studying the art of poetry, or using it as a vehicle for transformation, and so on…writing allows me to be deeply connected with who I am, what I desire, feel, and all of the other chaotic and beautiful things happening in my inner world.

Even though writing has always held such weight for me, I still waited years for the permission to call myself a writer. I held this incredibly important thing in my life at arms length because I didn’t have the credentials, or the publishing journey, or the accolades, or the thousands of people reading, or, or, or...

At some point I had to decide “am I going to keep letting this belief hold me back from pursuing something I love? Or am I ready to dive into the deep end with my naked truths and sloppy metaphors?”

…So, I dove in head first. Because I realized no one was going to push me in, or tell me to jump, or hold my hand while I waited cautiously at the edge of the pool, toes curled over the concrete, my body stiff with fear. I had to… just go ahead and jump anyway.

Looking back, I’m so glad I decided to let go of all of those outdated expectations and lean into what I always knew in my heart: I am a writer. End of sentence.

And, if you’re reading this and looking for permission, too…here it is. But also, who am I to give it to you? And why haven’t you already given it to yourself?

Do you want to write?
Do you love to write?
Do you write?

Then I don’t know! Maybe it’s time to embrace it! Shout it from the rooftops! Allow yourself the dignity to say what you want out loud! And then sit down at your desk and do the thing!

If you really, actually, genuinely want to be a writer, start here:

1. Stop waiting to feel like a real writer (because what does that even mean?)

I think I touched enough on this above and in part one. But truthfully… stop waiting to feel good enough. Stop waiting for the pieces to fall into place. Stop planning and ruminating and wishing. And just write. It does get to be that simple.

Exercise:

Write this sentence at the top of a page: “If I believed I was already a writer, I would...” Then free-write for 10 minutes.

2. Let your writing life be small at first

Letting go of the expectation that your writing needs to look a certain way can make all the difference. Do you actually need to sit at your desk every morning at 5 am and write 1,000 words before lunch? And then again until dinner? I don’t know, maybe! Can you also let it be simpler than that? Maybe a tiny ritual of lighting a candle before you journal, or writing one single sentence at the beginning of the day, or voice noting your ideas on your afternoon walk, or committing to a single hour of writing every week? Just something, anything, that lets your inner writer know “I’m here and I’m committed no matter what season of life I’m in.”

Exercise:

Create a small, sustainable writing ritual that you can use for the next week.

3. Pay attention to the life you are living

Everything you need to write already exists within the life you are living. The millisecond of a conversation you overhear in the grocery story. The way you go to bed with the same feeling of longing every single night. The angry email you wanted to send your boss, but couldn’t. The missed calls, abundant gratitude, night out with friends. Your child’s face.

You have all of the writing material you will ever need. Are you spending time looking for it?

Exercise:

Here’s an exercise I like to call “the noticing practice.” Make a list each day that includes:

• 3 things you saw

• 2 things you felt

• 1 sentence or word you can’t stop thinking about

Then: Turn one of those into a poem, paragraph, or reflection in your journal. What comes up may surprise you!

4. Write long (long) before you feel ready to begin

I get it…you can’t start because you’re not good enough. You can’t start because you’re not organized enough. Because you don’t have the time. Because you don’t know where to start in the first place. But here’s the honest truth: you’re never going to start if you don’t give yourself a chance to be bad at it. To not have the answers or the plan or the time. Sometimes, you have to get out of your head and comfort zone and just do the hard thing…long before you feel ready to.

Exercise:

Set a timer for 7 minutes and write. Don’t mind yourself with what comes out. Just write! Write badly, even. Just get something on the page.

5. Protect the part of you that wants to create

Remember when you were little and you created for hours and hours? Coloring, building, making up stories, playing pretend, dreaming of imaginary worlds, dreaming of the future? Do you remember how easily it came to you? What if I told you that little person still lives within you, urging you to create without limitations, to write without holding yourself back, to be so engrossed and in love with the creative process that nothing could break you out of the spell of self-expression? Hold on to that little person. Protect them. They only ever want what’s best for you.

Exercise:

Write a letter to your younger creative self:

• What do they need to hear?

• What are you giving yourself now?

• What dreams are you following?

One last takeaway

And remember: the confidence to call yourself a writer might not happen all at once. It certainly didn’t for me. It happened slowly and in little moments. In years of drafts and discarded notes. In my piles of journals and notebooks. In voice memos while I was driving. In becoming devoted over disciplined. In little acts of discovering myself through my words and my poetry and my love for language. Because maybe that’s all a writing life really is…returning to what calls to you again and again.

If you’re longing for a way to reconnect with your inner writer, I created The Write Ritual as a 10 day experience to help you return to the page. The Write Ritual is available to paid subscribers for $5/month, or you can purchase it separately for $15 here.

Subscribe now

Meet the Writer

Hi! I’m Danielle Langin, a life-long poet and writer, and mother in bloom. Welcome to Growing Through It—my space on the internet where I share personal essays, poetry and resources for those who are passionate about creativity. I write about home, belonging, creative expression, and the things that make us wonder what it means to be alive. I’m also a big fan of creating community spaces for writers to grow. I think you’ll find pretty quickly that I love helping people return to themselves through writing, creativity, and reflection. All of my resources have been created with the intention to help you fall in love with writing regardless of where you are on your journey.

→ Why join as a paid subscriber? If you’re longing for a deeper creative practice, I’d love to welcome you into The Garden, my paid creative space for writers and poets who want to reconnect with their voice. Inside, you’ll find guided journaling sessions, poetry prompts, creative rituals, co-writing gatherings, workshops, and a growing library of resources designed to help you tend to your creativity in a meaningful way.

Join The Garden

Want to go deeper into your writing life?

💌 For more personalized support, I also offer poetry feedback, editing, and creative coaching sessions. Email me hello@daniellelangin.com to learn more!

Because here’s the thing…when you make writing a meaningful part of your life (vs. a goal driven part of your life), it becomes more than an outlet or a hobby or an aspiration. It becomes a way of seeing the world, of knowing yourself more deeply, and of being in tune with your creative expression.

It becomes a mirror for you to connect with your truest self. It becomes a way home to who you are.

When I take the time to gather my thoughts through journaling or writing poetry or scribbling an idea for an essay from this perspective, I’m saying to myself “I see you, you’re beautiful, let’s express what’s been heavy or light on that heart of yours,” and it makes for a much more fulfilling and rich writing experience.

So, if you’re a reflective, creative soul like me who wants to make writing a meaningful part of your life, here are 4 ways to start:

1. Start calling yourself a writer (even when it’s scary)

I couldn’t always call myself a writer, but an entirely new world opened up for me when I finally started to. I began to feel more confident in this identity, which allowed me to show up as the writer I actually wanted to be. From taking classes on craft to putting myself out there through submissions, writing residencies, and open mics…the feelings of fear and the insecurities started to melt away. More and more my love for writing grew, and I became comfortable with the idea of truly stepping into the identity. Because I started calling myself a writer, I started acting like one, too. And I realized, writing isn’t just something you do. It’s something you live.

Tip: Whenever I begin to feel those insecurities creep back in, or hear those doubts knocking at the door, I ask myself “am I still passionate about my writing?” If the answer is yes (and it always is), I keep going.

2. Devote yourself to your writing practice

If I could give another writer one piece of advice above all it would be to focus on devotion over discipline. Discipline is your rigid inner critic who’s overbearing and spends too much time telling you exactly who to be. Devotion is the whimsical, but sturdy, inner wisdom within you. It’s strong, rooted in passion, and knows that even if you’re not showing up to the page every single day, your love, adoration, and brilliant ideas will eventually bring you back.

Will there be seasons where discipline is important, and you need to wake up at the same time everyday to get your word count goals in so you can complete a project or an essay or a book? Absolutely. But devotion to your craft can allow for the ebbs and flows that naturally happen in the artistic process.

Maybe, for right now, you don’t want to write daily. Maybe you want to practice your skills and be a student of your craft. Maybe you’re only called to journal. Maybe you’re playing around with a new genre, or getting on stage, or editing.

You don’t need to write everyday to be a writer. You just need to be devoted to the practice of what writing brings to your life.

3. Approach your writing as a practice

To piggyback off the idea of devotion over discipline, there seems to be a need to strive for true greatness as a writer and artist. To see our work as a production. To keep churning out work that is perfect. To always have an audience.

And sometimes that means we don’t write. Because if we have to show up perfectly, then we may not show up at all.

Something I’ve found helpful in releasing these self fulfilled expectations is to view writing as a practice. This means you allow yourself to “produce” only when you desire to (and not because you think you should). You allow yourself to show up imperfectly. And, most importantly, you allow yourself to show up to your practice in your own way and not in the way society, perfection, or outdated systems expect you to. (Truthfully, I think we would benefit if we approached many things in life as a practice, but that’s an essay for another day).

Ask yourself: how would my writing benefit if I viewed it as a practice instead of a chore? As a practice instead of a production? As a practice instead of inaction?

4. Write for Yourself First

As a culmination of all of the above: write for yourself first. Write for the joy of it. Write because it makes you happy. Write because it helps you to understand yourself better. Write because it gives you purpose.

Write for the version of you who needed inspiration when you were in the thick of it. Write for the version of you who needed love. Write for the version of you who needs love still.

It’s easy to get caught up in what others think of our work, how others will perceive our work, and what you should write instead of what you want to write. But the most important audience for your writing will always be yourself. When you write for your own heart first, it will be impossible for it not to feel like it is a meaningful part of your life.

An invitation to reflect…

🌱 What beliefs or fears are holding you back from stepping into who you are as a writer?
🌱 When in your current routine could you carve out even five minutes to write, and what would it look like to treat that time as sacred practice?

🌱 What do you need your writing to give you right now?

Leave a comment

If you made it this far…

Hi, I’m Danielle. Writer. Poet. Mother in bloom. And if you’re on a journey of growth and following your dreams and loving who you are, you’re in the right place.

What I hope my writing offers you is a reminder that you’re not alone in your own becoming.

Whether you’re a fellow writer. A mother. A dreamer. In a new season of life...or simply trying to make sense of it all. I hope this space gives you the inspiration to find poetry and art and beauty in your own growth.

To write, dance, love, move, create your way back to yourself no matter how many times it takes.

That’s all. That’s the mission. To be so inspired by my own creative, beautiful life, that it moves you to be inspired by your own.

As always, thank you for reading. Thank you for being here. Thank you for letting your beautiful life unfold beside me.

...Take my hand. Let’s grow together.

My offerings for writers, poets and mothers in bloom…

✿ Every month I offer a quiet, intentional space to write, reflect, and connect with fellow writers in an hour long co-writing session. Bring your coffee, your journal, and whatever words are ready to come through. Receive an invite to our next co-writing session by becoming a paid subscriber.

✿ If you love journaling, poetry, or prose I created a 10 day experience called The Write Ritual. Whether you’re just beginning your writing journey, or finding your way back, The Write Ritual will help you make writing a meaningful part of your life again (or for the first time). Learn more here.

I started this essay months ago, but was unable to finish it. This morning, following the news in America, I opened my drafts and wrote the words I’ve been choking on. This is what it means to love a child. Mine and your own.

I can hear the squeal of the bus as it rolls to a stop, followed by tiny squeals from the kids as they make their way up the steps. I’m inside, drinking my coffee and doomscrolling. A classic American breakfast. My son is in my arms, fast asleep under a blanket. It’s 52 degrees outside and there’s a lightness in the house. The fall is coming so quickly it may already be here. I imagine what life will be like a few years from now when the air feels like this and the world is bright and he’s walking to the corner to catch the bus—me waving from our driveway, coffee in hand, steam from my cup waving with us.

I close my eyes for a second, listening to the bus doors close, and thank the world for this beautiful life. For my beautiful son, still untouched by the hurt of this world.

The bus slowly rolls away. The house stays light, but my coffee turns to ice. There’s a tightening in my chest that’s arrived since becoming a mother. A knowing that joy and dread now go hand in hand. That safety is fleeting. That I will not always be able to protect my son from the dark underbelly of life.

As my cold coffee touches my lips, I think of the mother running barefoot toward her baby after another school shooting. I think of Renée Good who will never be able to hug her children again. I think of Alex Pretti’s mother—angry and grieving—and I imagine her holding her newborn for the first time, his body still slick with birth, her body still the first place he was ever safe.

When Trump was elected, I wrote that I was pregnant and riddled with guilt, and that one day my baby would have to learn that humankind does not mean there is always kindness.

Growing Through It

I am pregnant and riddled with guilt

My husband grabs my face in his hands and lifts my head. He plants a kiss and stays there–waiting until I'm really kissing him back. Waiting until my eyes lock with his. We both start smiling. His presence asking of me "come back to the present moment, my love, I beg of you…

Read more

2 years ago · 20 likes · 18 comments · Danielle Langin

I think now about what to make of this. How to feel into this. How to change this.

I think about how my husband and I will have to raise our son to hold tightly onto his joy. To be brave. To open doors for strangers. To help those in need. To follow his passions. To make something beautiful out of his life. To be a good man.

And...

To distrust strangers. To vote against cruelty. To see through the lies. To question thy neighbors. To stand up for injustice. To hide in closets or under his desk. To play dead if he has to.

We will have to teach our son to play dead if he has to.

There is an ineffable grief in raising a child during unprecedented times. One minute you are giggling and watching cartoons and showing them how to drink out of a sippy cup. The next, you are watching the execution of an innocent man, receiving news of another school shooting, wondering when the violence will finally be over, questioning if it was ethical to give birth in the first place.

One more dead, ten more injured, one thousand more detained, one million in collective grieving, rinse and repeat.

My mind is dizzy, arms heavy from the weight of my son and the world. I kiss his forehead, whisper that I would carry him through one hundred fires if I had to. That no amount of grief can reduce the amount of love I have for him. But still, I ache.

Parents, are our hearts not broken?

Do we not want change? Do we not want to lift our motherly fists into the air and fight for our children to know a life of peace? To sit at their desk, tiny feet dangling above the tile floor, pencil tapping, with a deep knowing they are safe?

To live in a world where love actually is the answer? Where we really do treat each other with kindness? Where we don’t have to place more flowers on our children’s graves?

Tonight, my husband and I will put our baby in his sleep sack, kiss him all over his face until he’s breathless with laughter, rest him in his crib knowing we gave him another good day. Knowing we’ve done what parents have always done—as if the repetition of love might somehow keep the rest of the world from finding him.

Then, we will fall into each other on the couch, whole and grieving. Full of joy and full of sadness. Somehow broken and somehow put together.

Holding space for the pain and holding out for hope.

...And wondering when we will finally admit that the blood has always been on our hands.

When I first created Creative Dreamer to Creative Doer, I had no idea I would still be hosting it 4 years later.

I think it lands with people because there’s an ache that comes with being a creative person…the kind of ache that sticks to you in the middle of the night when you’re longing to put your work into the world, but you don’t know where to start. The kind of ache that sticks to you when you have the spark and the inspiration, but lack the clarity and the momentum to bring it to life.

It’s the kind of ache where you can feel the work you’re meant to bring to the world. Through your writing, your art, the project that sits waiting in the back of your mind. But something keeps you from moving forward. Call it fear, call it lack of space or structure or action. Whatever it is, you keep getting pulled away from the thing you know will bring you (and others!) joy.

Creative Dreamer to Creative Doer was created as a remedy for exactly this. The in-between of dreaming and doing and imagining and beginning.

This workshop was born from my own need to take action. From my own willingness to look at my creative pursuits and ask “what’s stopping me from beginning?” and “why not now?”

What we’ll create together

Creative Dreamer to Creative Doer is built around four foundations:

✿ Connection

We’ll begin by reconnecting to you through guided meditation and reflection—returning to your inner voice, your intuition, and your why.

✿ Clarity

Through journaling and guided prompts, you’ll get clear on what you’re here to create and what project you want to bring to life in the next 6 months.

✿ Confidence

We’ll work with the fears and doubts that hold you back, and cultivate the confidence needed to believe in yourself and your vision.

✿ Creativity

We’ll spark your creativity by connecting to the essence of your dreams and passions so the next steps will feel exciting (and not overwhelming!).

What you’ll walk away with

• A clear vision for what you’re creating and why it matters

• A focused 6 month action plan

• Renewed confidence and motivation

• A feeling of connection to yourself and a like minded creative community

This workshop is for you if…

• you have a creative idea or project you can’t stop thinking about

• you feel blocked, overwhelmed, or unsure where to start

• you want guidance without pressure

• you crave clarity more than hustle

• you’re ready to show up for the work you’re here to do

Creativity is dreamy and mystical and sexy, but it still requires structure and action in order to flow freely. This workshop lets create that structure.

The Details

• Format: A virtual, 3 hour guided workshop

• Date: January 18, 2026 | 9:30 am to 12:30 pm EST

• Investment: One time cost of $88

Bonuses for Paid Substack Subscribers

Paid Substack subscribers also receive:

• The workshop replay

• The Creative Dreamer to Creative Doer Workbook

• A month long experience/support container to help you keep the momentum going

Go here to Reserve Your Spot without becoming a paid subscriber, or click the button below to subscribe to Growing Through It for $5/month.

Subscribe now

If you’re already a paid subscriber, you’re automatically registered for the Creative Dreamer to Creative Doer workshop. No additional steps needed!

Kind words from past participants!!!

“I needed this workshop a lot more than I initially thought… Danielle’s support is gentle, and yet so powerfully affirming… I left feeling confident and motivated to go forward in my passion project.” — Diana

“I left actually feeling EXCITED to log off and write… I have a game plan now and feel 100% capable of making my creative dreams come true.” — Cierra

“Danielle has a gift… she seems to effortlessly help make the sometimes intangible… nature of artistic pursuits become actionable and attainable.” — Shannon

“I left the workshop feeling so seen, supported & inspired… an absolute must for anyone searching for heartfelt connection to others & to purpose.” — Katie

“I remembered why I started writing in the first place… I walked away with not only the motivation to continue my project, but to just create in general.” — Brooke

“Even though I only got to watch the replay… Danielle really helped me with my creative blocks and made me dream again!” — Selyn

“Danielle creates a safe space where creative vulnerabilities are held and heard… her workshops always leave me buzzing with energy.” — Abi

“Danielle’s workshop gave me so much CLARITY! I finally have a vision for myself…” — Raelyn

“I was only able to attend the first half… and still I walked away with such a clear vision and plan.” — Kelly

“I feel so invigorated and motivated to put the lessons I learned into action.” — Katie

“Honestly… exactly what I needed… I feel like I can get to work without becoming overwhelmed again!” — Julia

Frequently Asked Questions

Do I need to be a “real” creative to attend?
No, silly! If you feel called to create, you belong here!!!

What kinds of projects does this support?
Anything from writing, art, a business idea, a course, a healing offering, a creative practice, a product, a blog, a YouTube channel, and more. I’ve seen many different types of projects born from this workshop!

Will I have to share?
I love when people share in my workshops, but it’s always optional. You’ll be invited, but never pushed. 🤗

What if I can’t attend live?
There will be a replay available for paid subscribers (plus the workbook and month long support container).

It’s time to bring your creative dreams to life! Can’t wait to see you at the workshop.

January 18, 2026
9:30 am to 12:30 pm EST

Go here to Reserve Your Spot without becoming a paid subscriber, or click the button below to subscribe to Growing Through it for $5/month.

Subscribe now

If you’re already a paid subscriber, you’re automatically registered for the Creative Dreamer to Creative Doer workshop. No additional steps needed!

It’s learning to love the life you’re already living... not just the one you’re hoping and dreaming and wishing toward.

It’s blooming and shedding and resting and returning

...again and again and again.

🌿

As someone who has big creative dreams, I’ve had to ask myself this question often: How do we stay rooted where we already are and make space for what wants to grow?

How do we achieve what we want to achieve while also giving ourselves the permission to remain gentle?

As I look toward 2026, I’m not setting ambitious resolutions or rigid plans for my writing. I’m no longer interested in becoming a different version of myself–one with more time, more discipline, more certainty. What I am interested in is meeting myself exactly where I am in this season. No pressure. No rules. No inner judgement when I can’t make it to the page in the way I believe I’m supposed to.

Instead, I’m choosing to be gentle.

I’m choosing to anchor into intentions I can return to when things feel full, tender, uncertain. I’m choosing to be steady and unwavering, and not so tied down to my goals that I don’t allow room for true growth.

I truly believe that momentum happens when we lean into simplicity. When we meet ourselves in two places at once: in the present moment where we are, and the soft edges of where we want to be.

Below are the 3 gentle writing intentions I’m holding for 2026. If any of these resonate with you, you’re welcome to hold them, too.

1. I’m creating a writing rhythm I can always return to

I’ve learned that consistency doesn’t have to be loud or all consuming. It doesn’t have to mean writing every day or heavy expectations or the inability to let yourself rest. Consistency can mean returning when you’re ready, and adding little touchstones throughout your week or day to help you stay on track.

For me that looks like allowing the rhythm of my writing to take shape around my life, not the other way around. Especially as a new mom who’s often busy and overwhelmed.

I have to ask myself: where can I fit this into my life now without being too rigid? Can I write when the baby goes to bed? During naptime? Am I okay with my scribbles being in my notes app for this season?

Lately, the answer to these questions have been “yes, this feels good.” And so, sometimes my rhythm is only ten quiet minutes. Sometimes it’s one poem a week. Sometimes it’s my notes app at 5 in the morning when my son won’t go back down in his crib and he’s seeking the comfort of cuddling on my chest.

But no matter what or when it is, it’s always a gentle return and a reminder of the passion that lives within me. A reminder of devotion over discipline.

✿ If you want to find your own gentle writing rhythm, I created a 10 day experience called The Write Ritual. Learn more here.

2. I’m letting my craft be what it wants to be (when it wants to be it)

For a long time I’ve criticized myself for not being able to stick with one writing project or form at a time. I’d find myself saying I can’t stop writing poetry one month, and I have no poems left in me the next.

Or, I would pressure myself to work on my poetry collection, when all I really wanted to do was write essays and explore my writing through prose.

In 2026, I want to honor these shifts in my craft. I want to embrace the idea that my writing doesn’t need to look the same all of the time. That there can be seasons for poetry, and seasons for essays, and seasons for other things, too.

That reflective prose can carry me through winter, and that sometimes fragments and lines are enough, too.

I want to follow what wants to be written now, in this moment, without looking too far ahead.

3. I’m embracing community

Writing may be one of the loneliest artforms, but I don’t believe it has to be. Being in community has almost always allowed me to lean even deeper into my identity as a writer. Community is a reminder that my doubts aren’t unique, my struggles aren’t failures, I’m not alone in my feelings, and my words don’t exist in a vacuum.

In 2026, community for me will look like staying in conversation with other writers, other voices, other hearts. Nourishing myself by nourishing other writers. Tending to the community I already have, and finding more people who want to join us. And, it also looks like putting myself out there more. Allowing my words to ring in the right spaces. To allow people to resonate with them and feel like they belong.

It looks like allowing myself to be vulnerable and creating space for others to say “I see you. I hear you. I am you.”

→ This is the beauty that community brings to my life.

P.S. If you’re looking to bring the same beauty to your life, you’re always welcome in my Substack. We meet once a month for virtual co-writing sessions, and I have a lot of things planned for us in 2026.

Subscribe now

The most important piece of the puzzle

I’m taking perfection out of the equation.

I’m allowing my writing to go where it needs to go, not where I think it should. I’m allowing myself to change direction without warning, to be unfinished, to be tender, to be nurtured.

Because ultimately, writing isn’t about being perfect. It’s about staying in a relationship with yourself long enough to tell the truth. To become more honest. To bring your story to life through words.

Thank you for reading and for being here. If you feel like sharing, what’s one way you want to show up for your writing in 2026?

Leave a comment

Hi, I’m Danielle. Writer. Poet. Mother in bloom. And if you’re on a journey of growth and following your dreams and loving who you are, you’re in the right place.

What I hope my writing offers you is a reminder that you’re not alone in your own becoming.

Whether you’re a fellow writer. A mother. A dreamer. In a new season of life...or simply trying to make sense of it all. I hope this space gives you the inspiration to find poetry and art and beauty in your own growth.

To write, dance, love, move, create your way back to yourself no matter how many times it takes.

That’s all. That’s the mission. To be so inspired by my own creative, beautiful life, that it moves you to be inspired by your own.

As always, thank you for reading. Thank you for being here. Thank you for letting your beautiful life unfold beside me.

...Take my hand. Let’s grow together.

Whether you’re working on poems, a novel, your Substack, or just want to hang out with other writers and journal, our monthly virtual co-writing sessions are intended to be a gentle, supportive space to show up for yourself and your writing! As always, paid subscribers are invited to join for free every month.

Our next session will be on 11/30 at 9:30 am EST. and I hope you’ll join us!

Here’s how it works: we’ll gather online, I’ll offer a gentle prompt to help you begin (if you’d like one), and then we’ll dive into writing.

✿ These sessions are designed to give you:

• A dedicated hour just for your words

• A community of like-minded people

• & the accountability that comes from simply showing up together

Whether you’re working on poems, your Substack, journaling, or starting something new, these sessions are a reminder that your words matter!

Paid Subscribers can register below.
(please note that you must register in order to receive the Zoom link)

Not ready to commit to being a paid subscriber? Go here to sign up for the co-writing session through a paid donation

Read more

What I didn’t know at the time was that by discovering this new world, I would later discover myself, too.

After that moment, I found myself writing endlessly. Poems filled my notebooks, journals filled my shelf, and my friends and I would sit awake for hours at camp sharing words we couldn’t say out loud to anyone else. Suddenly, during a time when I needed it most, I had a space to document and explore what I was going through.

When life was hard, I wrote. When it was good, I wrote. When I was lost, I wrote.

Writing didn’t just offer me an outlet, it offered me a way to turn my feelings into something tangible and concrete—a way for me to cope with a reality I didn’t feel equipped to handle. Writing held me when I felt no one else could or would, and it still holds me today.

The more I write, the more I learn about myself, and the more it becomes clear to me that the world of poetry and writing is actually the world of transformation and healing.

And isn’t that a world we desperately need? A world we are aching to receive more of?

Writing Through It

In my early twenties, I was chronically ill, chronically anxious, and I was in desperate need of healing. The fear was paralyzing, the illness was all consuming, and there was no clear vision of who I was or who I was supposed to be. A difficult upbringing, poor self image, and years of carrying unresolved emotions all caught up with me.

I can remember sitting on my couch, pain radiating through my heart and body, thinking: How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to be human again? How am I supposed to live?

Eventually, the weight of it became impossible to ignore. That’s when writing truly saved me. It knocked gently on the door and sat with me until all of the sludge and the weight and the heaviness fell to my feet. It made me feel light…not again, but for the first time.

There were nights I didn’t stop writing until three in the morning. There was so much releasing to do. So many emotions, thoughts and feelings that needed to come to light. So much within to be tended to.

At first, I looked at my poems and writing with judgement and resistance. These are stupid. These don’t make sense. They’re angry, gross, ugly, disgusting, dark.

It’s no surprise I was unable to look at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t even stand my own art.

But the more I wrote, the more I released the tension around my heart, and the more my heart softened, the more I began to look at my writing from a new perspective.

My poems suddenly became beautiful to me. And because my poetry was/is/always will be a direct reflection of myself, I became beautiful to myself, too.

The tired perspective I once had about my upbringing, sickness, anxiety, the world, and life in general had blossomed into something I could anchor myself into instead of shying away from. Through my writing, I was able to release my limiting beliefs, dissolve some shame, and become a nurturing figure to my inner child.

What I realized on this journey is that the act of expression creates safety and connection between who we are, how we feel, and what we experience.

It opens the space for us to find clarity and deepen the most important relationship we will ever have…the one to ourselves.

And how much more fulfilling and meaningful does life become when we’re in tune with who we are? When we feel connected to what we want and why? When we can hold space for ourselves, no matter the season we’re in…no matter what we’re growing through?

Writing still saves me today

Now, I bridge the darkness with the light in my writing. I write raw. I write real. I open myself to the vulnerability in my life through the words living within me.

It pours out of me and makes me feel whole.

It pours out of me and transforms.

It pours out of me and reminds me of who I am and long to be.

Writing has served as the catalyst for my own transformation, and it is the cornerstone of this publication: Growing Through It.

Because this is where it all began. An anxious, lost girl with some poetry planted deep within her bones, waiting for the moment it could begin to grow outward.

Thank you for reading and for being here.

What has your relationship with writing been like? How does poetry open you to who you really are? What do your words offer you? If this essay hit home for you in any way, I would love to connect with you in the comments!

Leave a comment

✿ Every month I offer a quiet, intentional space to write, reflect, and connect with fellow writers in an hour long co-writing session. Bring your coffee, your journal, and whatever words are ready to come through. Join our next co-writing session by becoming a paid subscriber below.

Subscribe now

✿ If you love journaling, poetry, or prose I created a 10 day experience called The Write Ritual. Whether you’re just beginning your writing journey, or finding your way back, The Write Ritual will help you make writing a meaningful part of your life again (or for the first time). Learn more here.

Whether you’re working on poems, a novel, your Substack, or just want to hang out with other writers and journal, these monthly virtual co-writing sessions are intended to be a gentle, supportive space to show up for yourself and your writing! As always, paid subscribers are invited to join for free every month.

Our next session will be on 10/27 at 7:30 pm EST. and I hope you’ll join us!

Here’s how it works: we’ll gather online, I’ll offer a gentle prompt to help you begin (if you’d like one), and then we’ll dive into writing.

✿ These sessions are designed to give you:

• A dedicated hour just for your words

• A community of like-minded people

• & the accountability that comes from simply showing up together

Whether you’re working on poems, your Substack, journaling, or starting something new, these sessions are a reminder that your words matter!

Paid Subscribers can register below.
(please note that you must register in order to receive the Zoom link)

Read more

Starting this month, my paid subscribers are invited to join me for a monthly virtual co-writing session—think of it as a gentle, supportive space to show up for yourself and your writing!

Our next session will be on 9/28 at 9:30 am EST. and I hope you’ll join us!

Here’s how it works: we’ll gather online, I’ll offer a gentle prompt to help you begin (if you’d like one), and then we’ll dive into writing.

✿ These sessions are designed to give you:

• A dedicated hour just for your words

• A community of like-minded people

• & the accountability that comes from simply showing up together

Whether you’re working on poems, your Substack, journaling, or starting something new, these sessions are a reminder that your words matter!

Paid Subscribers can register below.
(please note that you must register in order to receive the Zoom link)

Read more