Just start.

The most important thing about writing isn’t talent, discipline, or even having something brilliant to say.

It’s starting.

Not someday. Not when the idea is clearer, the mood is right, or the first sentence feels perfect. Just starting—messy, uncertain, and unfinished.

Most people don’t struggle because they can’t write. They struggle because they’re waiting for permission. Permission to be good. Permission to be ready. Permission to not embarrass themselves. But writing doesn’t work like that. Clarity comes after the words, not before. Confidence is a byproduct, not a prerequisite.

The blank page is intimidating because it asks you to choose. Once you write something—anything—you’ve broken the spell. Now there’s material to react to, shape, cut, improve. A bad paragraph can be fixed. An empty page can’t.

Getting started is an act of trust. Trust that you’ll figure it out as you go. Trust that future-you is smarter than present-you. Trust that momentum beats perfection every time.

So write the wrong sentence. Write the obvious one. Write the version you’re secretly afraid is too simple or too much. You don’t need to commit to it forever—you just need to commit to beginning.

Because every good piece of writing, without exception, starts the same way:

Someone sat down and decided to start.

If you need help. We are here for you.