When you stop writing, it usually feels like the most reasonable, grown-up choice you can make.
Life gets overwhelming, the schedule explodes, and most writers do the same thing. We push the writing aside, promising that we’ll get through the chaos first and then come back to the writing when things calm down.
I’ve done this personally for years.
But this year, I started tracking a little more carefully what happened every time I made that choice. And the pattern I saw really surprised me.
It turns out that writing less or not at all might be one of the worst things a writer can do, not only for their writing, but for their personal well-being and health.
In this article, I want to walk you through what I discovered and what the research says, then offer a few gentle, realistic shifts we can make instead of completely abandoning our writing when things get crazy in our lives.
When I Stop Writing, Everything Feels Off
As I started paying attention to this pattern of stopping writing when things got crazy, I noticed something else that I hadn’t really let myself see before.
The seasons when I was too busy to write were also the seasons when I felt the most “off” in my body and in my emotions.
I was more tired than what made sense. I was grazing throughout the day. And the biggest change was that I was craving sugar like crazy at night. That was causing me to put on a few extra pounds, which I didn’t like, but it was also like I just couldn’t help it.
At first, I blamed all the usual suspects: stress, hormones, the changing seasons of life, a run of busy weekends, not enough sleep, etc. And granted, those may have played some role.
But when I looked back over my days, there was one thing that kept lining up.
On the days when I didn’t write at all—especially if those days stacked up into two days, three days, five days—my cravings at night got louder. I didn’t sleep as well, and I didn’t feel my best overall.
On the days when I did have even just a small, honest chunk of time for my writing, something changed. My cravings were quieter. My sleep was better. I didn’t feel like I was chasing after some other sort of comfort all day. I felt more grounded in my own life.
When You Stop Writing, What Really Changes?
I would invite you to keep track of the same thing.
How do you really feel at those times when you’re not writing, especially if it’s more than one day?
Most of us can take one day off from writing and feel okay, though some of us feel a little off even then. But look at those times when you’re not writing for two days, three, five, or even a couple of weeks or a month.
What really happens in your life?
And what might you be blaming it on?
I noticed this pattern particularly after a month-long break from writing, which is a long time for me. When I finally got back to work, I felt really good. Things felt solid again. And I remember thinking, This is weird. Why is this happening?
That’s when I started to get interested in what was going on. I started gathering data about myself.
This is when it finally clicked for me that writing wasn’t just another task on my to-do list. For me as a writer—and maybe for you—it was a doorway into my own well-being.
When I cut it out, that hunger for self-expression or creativity or whatever it is inside us that gets satisfied when we write—it didn’t disappear.
It just went looking for substitutes.
Stop Writing, Start Substituting
When I stopped writing, that inner hunger went looking for other sources: sugar, grazing, staying up too late scrolling my phone, comfort television shows, all the things.
These substitutes never satisfied me like the writing did, even though they promised a quick hit of dopamine in the moment.
For a long time, I didn’t even notice that this was what I was doing. Only when I started paying attention did I see it clearly.
On those stretches when I wasn’t writing, there I was: late-night cravings for food when I wasn’t really hungry, scrolling through my phone at night, and watching videos way too late.
All of those little behaviors showed up more often in the seasons when I had quietly stopped writing.
They were never as satisfying to me as getting some writing done.
I already knew writing was important to me. I just hadn’t realized how big a factor it was in my overall well-being!
Are You Starving Yourself When You Stop Writing?
The key insight I found is this: If you are a real writer and you keep treating writing as optional in your life, you may not only be stalling your writing projects—you could actually be starving a part of yourself that needs that creative expression to feel well.
That hunger to write has a way of showing up in other areas as cravings for more food, sugar, sleep, or distraction—all things that can quietly work against us, physically and mentally.
The question I had to ask was: “Is this just some weird tendency of mine, or is this something that happens more broadly for people who are typically creative?”
So I went and did some research.
Thank heavens, it is not just me.
Researchers are seeing similar patterns on a larger scale.
What Research Says About Cravings When You Stop Writing
Studies show that when we’re not feeling fulfilled in life for whatever reason, we tend to slip into habits that don’t serve us very well.
Psychologists, for example, have found that when people feel bored or particularly under-stimulated, they eat more—especially high-calorie, high-fat, high-sugar foods. In a week-long diary study, higher boredom predicted higher calorie, fat, carbohydrate, and protein consumption across the day.
For a writer, that might look like this: on the days you don’t touch your story, you feel vaguely restless all evening without really knowing why, and suddenly you’re standing in the kitchen with a bag of chips because your brain is hunting for something to latch onto.
This has happened to me several times, except it’s usually cookies instead of chips!
We also know from research that emotional eating—turning to food for comfort when we’re stressed, empty, or restless—is a well-documented pattern. The Mayo Clinic notes that some of the strongest food cravings often hit when we’re at our weakest emotionally, including when we’re stressed or bored.
For a writer, that can show up on those guilty nights when you meant to write but didn’t. You end up soothing that mix of stress and disappointment with a big bowl of ice cream or late-night snacking, without realizing that part of what you’re trying to soothe is the creative expression you didn’t give yourself.
It’s Not Just Food
It isn’t only food that fills the gap. Research on meaning in life shows that when people feel less meaning or purpose, they’re more likely to drift into harmful or addictive behaviors, such as heavier drinking, as a way to cope.
For writers, feeling disconnected from our work can lead us into “just one more episode” on Netflix or disappearing into social media. If we’re not living inside our stories—that place where many of us find our sense of purpose—our brains go searching for other stories to hide in.
On the flip side, people who report a stronger sense of purpose tend to have better sleep and healthier habits overall. Some long-term studies with older adults have linked a higher sense of purpose with better sleep quality and fewer sleep problems over time.
For a writer, that might look like the seasons when you’re actively engaged with a story or a project you care about. Even if life is busy, you’re sleeping more soundly, eating a little healthier, taking a walk most days, and not needing as much distraction or numbing because a deep part of you feels on track.
If we zoom out, a theme emerges.
When we’re under-engaged and low on meaning or purpose, our brains go hunting for quick hits: food, scrolling, streaming, whatever gives us a burst of relief or a little dopamine.
When we feel more on purpose—which for many of us happens when we’re writing—it gets easier to sleep, take care of ourselves, and resist those tempting but unhelpful habits.
If Writing Keeps You Well, How Do You Stop Writing Less?
If your sense of purpose is closely tied to your writing, and you keep treating that work as optional, your brain isn’t going to stop needing that feeling.
It will just go looking for it in places that are not nearly as good for you.
So if your writing life is part of what keeps you well—and if you’re not sure, you can explore this in your own life over the next few weeks—start noticing:
- How do you feel when you don’t write?
- How do you feel when you do?
You may see a clearer difference than you expected.
If you’re one of those people who feel better when you’re writing, the question becomes: What do you do in the weeks when your time is tight and everything feels chaotic?
Because we all have those seasons.
Here are three shifts that have helped me stop writing less and stay creatively fed even when life gets wild.
Shift 1: A Minimum Dose So You Don’t Completely Stop Writing
The first shift is to stop thinking of writing as an all-or-nothing block and to start treating it like a minimum dose your system needs to function.
When my life got busy, I used to think, Well, I don’t have an hour. I don’t even have half an hour. So it’s kind of pointless to try to sit down now.
That’s when writing disappeared completely from my schedule. And that’s when all the patterns we just talked about crept back in.
Eventually, I realized my body wasn’t really asking for more sugar at night or another round of scrolling. It was asking for the feeling I get when I write.
The key was realizing I didn’t need a perfect writing session to give myself a dose of that.
Writing is our feel-good drug in a way. If we don’t get it, we’re not quite ourselves.
We Don’t Need an Hour of Writing
When I think of it that way, I don’t need a half hour, an hour, or a thousand words to “count.” All I need is a touchpoint with the part of me that feels most alive when I’m in a story.
So in my busiest seasons, I pick a tiny dose of writing and protect it.
That might be fifteen or twenty minutes where I open the document and move the story forward by a couple of sentences or a paragraph, whatever I can manage.
I don’t demand a big word count. I remind myself that all that matters is that I get my dose of writing today.
This helps for a couple of reasons.
First, it simply makes us feel better. If we’re writers, we feel more ourselves when we’re writing.
Second, it keeps the project alive in our minds. Showing up reminds the brain that this story still exists, that we haven’t abandoned it. Our creative minds can keep working on it in the background.
Our brains love to noodle on a story while we go about our day. You know how it goes: the best ideas arrive in the shower or on a walk.
As long as we’re touching base with the story and not letting ourselves forget what’s happening, even a little connection can keep the brain busy and happy—and keep us feeling more balanced.
Shift 2: When You Have to Stop Writing, Stay Creatively Plugged In
There will be days when even a tiny minimum dose feels out of reach.
Maybe you’re wiped out, your schedule is wall-to-wall, and the idea of forming a sentence seems laughable.
On those days, instead of saying, “Well, that’s it, I’m cut off from my writing today,” it can help to shift the goal from producing to simply staying plugged in.
For me, that often looks like asking, “What’s the smallest way I can stay in my story’s orbit today?”
Sometimes that means reading a single page of what I wrote yesterday. I’m not expecting to write. I’m just going to read.
You can do that when you’re exhausted, five minutes before bed.
What’s funny is that it often leads to writing, anyway. You read something that bugs you, your brain insists you fix it, and suddenly you’re revising. Even if you lose a few minutes of sleep, that small connection can be worth it.
Other Options to Try
On other days, staying plugged in means going about my day with one small promise to myself: Whenever the story pops into my mind, I’ll jot down whatever comes.
You can prime yourself in the morning: “I know I won’t have time to write today, but if I get an idea, I’ll capture it.”
That alone can set your brain to work. Sometime during the day, a line of dialogue or a solution to a scene appears, and you jot a note in your phone or send yourself an email.
You’ve just given yourself a little dose of your writing without adding pressure.
Another option: let your mind wander through a scene you want to write while you’re doing laundry or commuting. You’re not demanding output. You’re just walking through the scene in your imagination.
Maybe you picture how the scene opens, what the characters say to each other, what the emotional tone feels like. You rehearse it in your mind.
That keeps the story alive and makes it easier to dive in the next time you do have space to write.
Our brains are more powerful than we give them credit for. If we keep them in contact with the story, they’ll keep building it for us.
Shift 3: When Cravings Hit, Remember Why You Stopped Writing
The third shift is about those moments when you find yourself wandering toward the pantry or the freezer or scrolling your phone or reaching for whatever your comfort habit is.
Most of us do this without much awareness.
When we do notice it, it usually shows up as criticism: Why are you doing this? Don’t you have any discipline?
All that does is pile shame on top of the emptiness we already feel.
So I’ve started treating those moments as a check-in.
If I’m reaching for snacks late at night, I ask, “What am I actually hungry for right now?”
Then I ask, “Have I connected to my writing at all today?”
Most of the time, the answer is no. I didn’t fulfilled my need for creativity that day.
You may see the same pattern. When you reach for comfort or distraction, you might realize you haven’t touched your project, and your brain is trying to fill that space with something else that isn’t nearly as satisfying.
In those moments, it helps to gently reroute that desire.
Maybe I’ll give myself five minutes with my story, just to read a little of it.
Sometimes I ask myself, “What tiny action would help me feel more like a writer right now?” Then, I do the smallest version of that.
It might be reading a page from an author I admire, mentally walking through the last scene I wrote, or rehearsing the next one in my head.
Anything that reconnects me to that part of myself in that moment.
The point is to let the craving or distraction remind us that something else is asking to be filled.
A Seven-Day Experiment: What Happens When You Stop Writing?
If you want to see this more clearly in your own life, try running a small experiment over the next week.
Grab a notebook or a notes app and, at the end of each day, jot down three things:
- Your writing dose. Did you connect with your writing at all today? Note what it looked like: zero minutes, a ten-minute check-in, a page written, a chapter revised.
- What you reached for. If you wrote, maybe that was your “comfort” for the day and you’re done. If you didn’t, what did you reach for instead—food, sugar, scrolling, Netflix? List it without judgment.
- How you actually felt. Write one sentence about your overall mood and energy that day. Restless, wired, grounded because you wrote, drained, lighter, whatever it was.
You’re not trying to be good or get it right. You’re just gathering data.
At the end of seven days, look back and see if there’s any connection between the days when you wrote and how you felt, and the days when you didn’t and how you felt.
If you notice a connection there, like I did, that is your evidence.
That’s your life showing you that your writing isn’t just an extra thing or something selfish you’re trying to squeeze in. It’s one of the ways you stay well mentally and physically.
Let your week answer this question:
What really changes for the worse when I stop writing or put my writing last?
What changes for the better when I put my writing first?
See what your own data shows you.
NOTE: My award-winning book, Overwhelmed Writer Rescue, is all about this problem: how to find the time and energy for your creative work when your schedule already feels out of control.