Stop calling it writer’s block. Your brand just forgot how to talk
The cursor blinks like it’s mocking you. Your brain is a browser with fifty tabs and zero music playing. Everything you try sounds like it was ghostwritten by LinkedIn in a coma.
You’ve done this before. Written the posts, launched the thing. Pulled magic out of half a sentence and a deadline. But lately? Nothing lands. Nothing sounds like you.
You tell yourself it’s just a slump. You’ll shake it off. Maybe after a walk. A snack. A scroll (oh no, not the scroll!!).
But deep down, a quieter truth is whispering through the noise.
You’re not blocked. You’re disconnected.
This isn’t about productivity, but about possession. Something stole your voice, and you’ve been trying to win it back with templates and to-do lists.
Let’s call that what it is. You’ve been trying to perform a marketing exorcism. And the demon isn’t leaving.
Disclaimer. This post doesn’t offer a cure for writer’s block. It offers a diagnosis: disconnection, not incompetence.
When the cursor blinks but you don’t
You don’t need help writing. You’ve got decades of language etched into your fingertips.
What you need is a resurrection. Because what you’re feeling isn’t a lack of skill. It’s the symptom of a brand that’s grown silent inside its own body. You’ve outgrown your voice, and now every work you write feels like it belongs to someone else. It’s like trying to wear a jacket that used to fit, but now just pinches at the shoulders and won’t button at the waist.
The old tone? Too polite.
The old rhythm? Too safe.
The old message? You don’t believe it anymore.
And when belief goes, the copy turns hollow.
This isn’t a block. It’s a narrative fracture
Writer’s block is the surface-level diagnosis. The real illness is deeper: brand dissociation.
It happens when your messaging starts to sound like you two years ago.
It happens when the values are still true, but the language is dead skin.
It happens when you’ve evolved, but your copy hasn’t caught up.
That blank page isn’t asking you for keywords. It’s asking you: “Who are we now?”
And you don’t have the answer. Yet.
You can’t write from a script you didn’t choose
Maybe you turned to swipe files. Maybe you let AI have a go. Maybe you tried to mimic that brand you admire. You know the one: cool, breezy, consistent. (Dead inside.)
And sure, you got words on the page. But not the right ones. Not the ones that taste like you.
Because here’s the thing no one tells you when you’re stuck:
It’s not that you don’t know what to say. It’s that the rules you’ve been handed weren’t built for your voice.
And every time you follow one, you’re just getting quieter.
“Helping ambitious women grow their businesses” isn’t a voice. It’s a LinkedIn eulogy. Maybe say: “This is where brave ideas learn to speak”.
Something is coming. But not yet
I’m not going to sell you a cure. Not today. But if you’re still here, if your pulse just spiked a little, if your fingers are itching, if your brain is whispering “finally, someone said it”, then know this:
Next week, I’m releasing something that doesn’t fix your copy. It liberates it.
No swipe files. No polite advice. No one-size-fits-all anything. Just raw, fast, permission-granting storytelling prompts built for the voice that’s trying to claw it’s way back out of your mouth.
You’ll know when it drops. But for now, just sit with this:
You don’t need to be brilliant. You just need to be honest
Say the thing that feels unmarketable.
Write the line that doesn’t fit.
Start the sentence you don’t know how to end.
And if your brand’s voice feels like a ghost right now? Good. That means something old is dying, and something better is getting ready to rise.
Whatever’s coming next? Don’t shut it up just because it’s loud.
No call to action. No opt-in. No dopamine bait. Just a clear reminder:
You don’t need another copy formula. You need a way back to your voice.
And next week, I’ll show you where the trail begins.
