When I write freely, the intention isn’t the result.
The intention is to write — and to be gentle enough with myself to stay.
For a long time, I believed writing needed a destination. A finished piece. A clear point. Proof that the time I spent was worth it. That belief made writing feel heavy, like something I had to earn my way through.
Free writing changed that.
When I write freely, I’m not trying to arrive anywhere. I’m not asking the writing to be good, useful, or impressive. I’m only asking myself to stay present with the act of writing itself — to sit down, to begin, to remain, even when the words feel uncertain or unfinished.
The gentleness matters.
Without it, I leave too quickly.
Writing doesn’t always flow. Some days it meanders. Some days it surprises me. Some days it barely moves at all. But when I release the pressure of outcome, I notice something shift. Writing becomes a place I can return to, rather than something I have to push through.
I’ve learned that staying is the real work.
Staying with the page.
Staying with the sentence.
Staying with myself.
Free writing isn’t careless. It’s intentional in a quieter way. The intention is not to produce something perfect, but to practice being here — to let writing be a companion rather than a test.
This is where my writing begins.
Not with confidence.
Not with clarity.
But with presence.
And that is enough.
