Morning Pages

The Practice of Putting Pen to Paper

I have a dear friend, who is likely reading this now, hey girl 🧡 and we’ve been commiserating about our current situations. Her’s is a bit of a dilemma. She needs to find a job, but she can’t seem to resolve herself to a particular occupation. And, honestly, I can understand why.

She had a previous career that provided financial stability, allowed her to work from home, and gave her the flexibility she needed as a single mom with a child in school. But she hated the work. It drained her soul, and she knows she does not want to go back to that health insurance claims world (in another life, I worked No-Fault insurance claims, I relate. #insuranceclaimssuck 😂). Now she’s caught between what is practical and what feels right. She needs an income that can actually support her family, more than $20 an hour, but she also doesn’t want to return to something that makes her miserable simply because of her recent expereience and knows how to do it. Which, this girl is so much more than this last job, in one of her previous life she was the costume director for Motley Crew, she is amazingly capable at anything she sets her mind.

And so she’s stuck.

She’s frustrated. She’s avoiding making the resume. She’s avoiding applying for jobs. And I think part of that avoidance comes from not knowing what she actually wants to move toward (that will afford her to turn her property into a glamping resort).

As we were talking, I found myself thinking about how difficult it can be to hear that inner voice when your brain is filled with all the shoulds:

I should get a job.
I should use the experience I already have.
I should take the safe option.
I should just figure this out already.

And then it came to me. The Artist Way. Morning Pages.

Years ago, I read The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, and one of the practices she recommends is writing three pages of stream-of-consciousness thoughts first thing in the morning. No editing. No judging. No trying to make it sound good. Just getting the thoughts out of your head and onto paper.

I remembered how much I loved that practice—and how much clarity it gave me.

So I suggested it to my friend. Actually, right there I listening to my divine guidance and purchased the book for her and told her we’re having an Artist Way book club and we’ll meet once a week to discuss the book. I was trusting my guidance because in that moment I was so sure this is what the divine wants.

Maybe, instead of immediately trying to figure out “What job should I get?”, she could start by simply giving herself some space… to listen.

And then I realized something…

Maybe I need Morning Pages again, too.

Because sometimes we spend so much time looking outside ourselves for the answer—another person's advice, another podcast, another Google search, another list of possibilities—that we forget there is a pretty powerful source of wisdom already inside us.

Maybe we just need to create the space and get quiet enough to hear it.

That’s what the pages create, space to hear

What are morning pages? As simple as it sounds, they are you writing 3 pages of longhand, stream-of-consciousness first thing in the morning. You with a pen touching paper and your thoughts coming out as fast as you can write them. There is no plan to re-read them. They are free-flowing without a reader (though you certainly could go back and read them). Without someone elses judgement. It’s unstructured without and agenda, just get to 3 pages.

I like to think about them as a kind of mental clearing or brain dump. I get out the “what I have to do today” that’s on my mind, then its maybe something that happened the day before that I’m ruminating on, the iritating conversation. Sometimes its, “awe look at the dew forming on the blades of grass that looks really cool” “George is such a good boy, i love him so much”. Maybe its “I hope my girls can come together as a team,” the worries about my kids and the "I really should finish that blog post by the end of the week ..." all out of your head and onto paper.

Something interesting happens when I keep writing.

At first, it's usually the surface stuff. What I need to do. What I forgot to do. What I'm worried about. What someone said. What's bothering me.

But if I keep going — three pages, when my hand is tired and my brain insists there's nothing left to say — something deeper starts to emerge.

It's almost like different parts of me finally get a chance to talk.

The child in me can speak to the adult. The dreamer can speak to the practical part of me. The part of me that is afraid can speak to the part of me that knows better.

It's all me. Just different parts of me.

And sometimes my ego doesn't particularly want me to hear what those deeper parts have to say.

That's why I keep writing.

And its there, its in this space on the page where we become one and magic happens.

Remembering back to years ago, when I was deep in the routine of waking up, working out, and then sitting down to do my Morning Pages right afterward. I would write my stream of consciousness, and I would also write affirmations for the future.

What I loved most about it was the routine of it. The ritual.

There was something powerful about consistently showing up for myself in that quiet space. It was a little daily reminder that, no matter what happened yesterday, I was still here today. I was still with me.

And over time, that ritual bridged a gap. It created a deeper connection with myself and, ultimately, a deeper sense of self-love.

I think that's what I was really remembering when I suggested it to my friend—not just the practice of writing three pages, but the feeling of coming home to myself.

Make it a Ritual

The magic, I think, is in making it a ritual rather than just another thing on your to-do list. Give yourself a little space that belongs only to you. Maybe it’s first thing in the morning with your coffee, after your workout, or while the rest of the house is still quiet. Whatever it can be, make it yours. Light a candle. Make your favorite tea. Sit in the same cozy chair. Put your phone away.

There’s no right way to do it. The point isn’t to produce beautiful writing or come up with profound insights. It’s simply to create a consistent moment where you can check in with yourself—to hear what’s swirling around in your mind, what your heart is asking for, and what might be waiting underneath all the noise.

Because when you make showing up for yourself a ritual, something shifts. You begin to build trust with yourself. You become someone you can count on.

Maybe that’s what neNot necessarily another answer, another plan, or another person telling you what to do. Maybe you just need 15–20 quiet minutes each morning to hear yourself again.

Try three pages. Don't edit. Don't judge. Don't make it good. Just keep your hand moving and see what has been waiting underneath the noise.