By Dr. Noelle Sterne

Q: I’m burned out but don’t feel I can take a break. Help!
          — Written Out

A: Like this writer, have you lost your dissertation fervor? Even mild enthusiasm? Do you long to regain that old rush of excitement (or at least a little)? Maybe, like companies that close temporarily for renovation or universities on a holiday break, you need to close your writing shop for some needed rejuvenation.

It’s tough, I know. When we think of stopping, even for a little while, too many excuses rear up . . . .

“I’ve Got So Much to Do!”

Like many of us, you’re probably surrounded by a mass of hydra-headed notes, projects on paper, files, Post-its, and pdfs, not to mention those in your head. The deceptive dream that you’ll finally really finish everything pushes you to do “just one more thing.” At that point, you feel overwhelmed and sapped. Your creative freshness has palled and editorial detachment has withered.

Remedy: Make a list. List every project you’re working on and would like to. Get it all out. For today, choose only one or two from that master list (likely the chapter you’ve been stalling in that your chair is politely bugging you about). Then hide the list. When you’ve completed this project, turn to another. Focus and monotasking are the keys.

Write out a reasonable schedule—for work stints, real lunch breaks (not gulped over your keyboard), and one other nonwork activity (walk outside, fifteen minutes of delicious phone gossip, a stupid sitcom you love). Even if you don’t stick to your schedule exactly, you’ll have a structure. And a daily treat.

A related defense:

“I’ll Get Behind!”

“I can’t take a break!” we scream. “Every other writer is getting ahead of me! They’re writing nine hours a day, churning out their dissertation, articles, essays, stories, and book proposals. They’re teaching classes to make into their next book. They’re creating webinars. They’re landing hot agents. I’ll never catch up!”

When we picture other writers producing with unflagging zeal while we get the tires rotated or hover over the gutter-cleaning guy, anxiety floods us, and we push ourselves harder. Face it: there will always be others who produce more and collect more stellar credits.

Remedy: This truism is still true. Remind yourself that you alone—individually, uniquely—can write what you write. You alone possess your vision and sensibility. You alone can express what you need to, in the ways you need to, in the time you need. Good, even great, writing can’t be hurried. Emblazon these truths on your brain, heart, and keyboard.

Nevertheless, another cry may stop us from pausing.

“I Feel So Guilty for Stopping!”

If you find it very hard to stop—for holidays, vacations, and even a weekend afternoon, you’re in much company. “Many authors castigate themselves,” observe psychologists and writers Jean and Veryl Rosenbaum (1985), “when they take vacation time or even when they relax from a regular writing schedule” (p. 165). We can’t stop because we find it almost impossible to separate our writing from ourselves. We believe we are what we write. No matter how much we earn from other endeavors, how many tasks we check off on the endless lists, how many compliments we get on our hair or six-pack, none of it matters. Under our fragile self-worth lives self-worse. So we suffer the guilt of barely thinking about stopping.

Remedy: Rachel Ballon (2007), the “writer’s therapist,” offers some admonitional tonic. “Maintain your self-worth and your self-confidence based on who you are, not on how [or that] you write” (p. 54)

How to do this? Credit yourself with accomplishments other than a completed chapter that your chair finally grudgingly approved or journal acceptance of one of your pieces. Take in others’ praise when you do something not associated with writing, whether it’s small or huge. Thank them graciously. Make a list of your nonwriting accomplishments and strong points, and you may just start to recognize that you are indeed separate from your writing.

And do you really think it matters to your spouse, partner, child, or pet whether you’re writing or publishing? Do they yearn to sit on the loveseat cuddling under the quilt with your manuscript, your diploma (finally), or the latest journal your story is in? It’s you they crave.

Alas, another objection may rear up.

“I don’t deserve it; I must earn it.”

Who’s tallying up your deservingness? This conclusion is the result of false social expectations you’ve probably ingested. You’ve already earned a break (and many)—by being human. Oscar Forrester (2024) points out that our brains need breaks: “the secret to performing better isn’t working harder, but taking smart, intentional breaks” (para. 1). In corroboration and quashing the idea that we don’t need to prove our deservingness, Sarah Kesty (2026) points out a cogent and practical reason:

The major flaw in [pushing] is that taking breaks can increase productivity; the task we force ourselves to complete so we “earn” our break may take 20 minutes with a tired brain but only 5 after refreshing for a few minutes. (para.7; my emphasis)

Are you convinced now?

“I’ll Lose My Ideas/Talent/Motivation!”

You won’t! When I was drowning in a long block, I agonized incessantly that I’d lose my previously unassailable motivation, and my writing ability would dribble down the sink. Thankfully, I discovered Julia Cameron’s (1992) The Artist’s Way and clutched it to my chest everywhere I went, like an amulet to ward off creativity-draining demons.

Faithfully I practiced Cameron’s “Morning Pages”—three handwritten pages, daily, religiously—on anything. After the first few weeks of scribbled self-pitying laments and self-righteous complaints, as Saint Cameron already knew, an amazing thing happened. My moaning and whining yielded to new ideas, passionate phrases, effortless alliteration, and fresh metaphors. Absent over six years from writing, I felt again the long-buried power I thought I’d lost. And turned a few of those little stars into (later published) articles, essays, and stories.

Remedy: To nudge your ideas/motivation/abilities back into view, engage in good block-breakers, like the Morning Pages or writing prompts available in many writing publications. You may be familiar with Maya Angelou’s famous, comforting, and uplifting words on creativity in a 1982 interview: “You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have” (Ardito, 1982, p. 33).

So you won’t lose it. It may grog out in bed for a while but it will reawaken. And after such renewed and exhilarating production, though, you may still need to take a break.

But another objection springs up . . .

“I’ll Be Like Everyone Else!”

Ah, the writer’s ego! Despite our bouts of imposter syndrome, we know we’re elite, special, kissed by the gods, whether we’ve published a single syllable or tomes. We may do all the things ordinary people do—ferry the children, wrangle the laundry, traipse to the commuter job, argue with the plumber, pine over the new iPhone, rush to the latest action flick before our friends see it. And yet—we’re writers. Can we stand not to write and still murmur, with modestly lowered eyes, “Yes, I’m a writer”?

Remedy: Dare to be like everyone else. When you are, you’ll be better able to understand other people, transmute your feelings and observations into your writing, tap into their similar feelings and observations, and move many more readers.

Our Need for Rest and Respite

Many writers, especially consistently prolific ones, realize the dangers of pushing. Cameron again (p. 96): “An artist must have downtime, time to do nothing. Defending our right to such time takes courage, conviction, and resiliency.”

When I worry that I’ll suffer from being away and I’m afraid of losing it, Elizabeth Gilbert (2016) reassures me that I’m a creative person: “Too late,” she says, “you already are one. To even call somebody ‘a creative person’ is almost laughably redundant; creativity is the hallmark of our species” (p. 89).

With this consolation in mind, we can admit we need rest. Pressing toward our writing goals, in the midst of paralysis of ideas, creativity, brain, and fingers, and drained of all motivation, we hate to admit we need a rest. But respites help us recharge and reinvigorate our heads, emotions, and writing.

Of course, our downtime can be anything we dream up, especially activities you haven’t allowed yourself: a ramble through the hardware store bins of museum-worthy copper pipe fittings, the delicious buffet in a stationery emporium of pens and quilted- cover blank journals, a long walk in the country, a visit to the beach at sunrise, a foray through an ethnic neighborhood, a horseback ride, a day with a friend’s six-year-old. Take yourself out for fun and give your writing self a rest.

Trust the Process

To your probable surprise, you’ll come back refreshed and renewed, possibly with inspiration from an improbable source for the rationale for your choice of participants for data collection or that pesky hole in your plot. Also to your probable surprise, you’ll crave to get back to the project that earlier threatened to stifle you like a soaked wool blanket.

When you withdraw to what pleases and rests you, coming back your enthusiasm will spring up stronger, your mind will bubble over with ideas, your critical eye will laser in. Trust the process and listen to your need for taking occasional or regular breaks. You’ll return—refreshed and rarin’ again to write. And you’ll be glad you had the foresight and fortitude to close your shop.

References

Ardito, M. (1982). It’s the thought that counts. Interview Bell Telephone Magazine, 61(1), 32-33. See also J. M. Elliot (Ed., 1989), Conversations with Maya Angelou, p. x. University of Mississippi Press.

Ballon, R. (2007). The writer’s portable therapist. Adams Media.

Cameron, J. (1992). The artist’s way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity. Tarcher/Putnam.

Forrester, O. (2024, October 15). The power of taking breaks: How smart resting habits lead to better performance. Very Big Brain.

Gilbert, E. (2016). Big magic: Creative living beyond fear. Riverhead/Penguin/Random House.

Kesty, S. (2026, June 2). The paradox of taking breaks. Psychology Today.

Rosenbaum, J., & Rosenbaum, V. (1985) The writer’s survival guide. Writer’s Digest Books.