I don’t get writer’s block. I get writer’s resistance—a persistent, internal pushback against the act of writing, even though the words are there. While writer’s block feels like a void where ideas should be, resistance is more like a tangled knot of ideas that I hesitate to untangle. Every word I need is swirling around in my head. Each word collides with and ricochets off the letters of other words, forming a chaotic dance that makes it hard to separate them into coherent thoughts. It seems like a chore to sort the words from the others, like untangling a bundle of string lights where every strand is knotted with another. I often find myself doing anything else besides writing—organizing my desk, scrolling through social media, or even tackling chores I’d typically avoid, like cleaning out the junk drawer. But once I finally write, the words find their way to the page, one after the other. I wonder if I’ll ever learn to trust the words, to believe that once I untangle the knots and separate the strands, they’ll flow freely and weave themselves into something meaningful.