When the Noise Gets Loud

When the Noise Gets Loud: How I Broke a Nasty Case of Writer’s Block

At the beginning of this year, I wrote an article titled What Unites Us Still Matters. I meant every word.

And yet, in the weeks that followed, something unexpected happened.

In meeting after meeting, with clients from entirely different organizations, I heard rhetoric that was… ugly. Hateful. Dehumanizing. Comments about groups of people they disagreed with. Sweeping generalizations. Dismissive language. The kind of statements that make your shoulders tense and your jaw clench.

I’m not naïve. I know we’re living in a deeply divided country. But sustained exposure to that tone, especially when it comes from people you’re supposed to be collaborating with, does something to your spirit.

For me, it did something to my writing.

The Block Wasn’t About Ideas

I didn’t run out of topics.

In fact, as someone who spends her days analyzing federal policy shifts, grant rescissions, shutdown impacts, and the ripple effects of laws like H.R. 1, the OBBBA, there is no shortage of material.

There’s always another funding change to unpack.
Another compliance issue to explain.
Another strategy nonprofits need to understand.

The problem wasn’t information.

It was emotional static.

When your brain is full of harsh rhetoric, it’s hard to access the part of yourself that writes with clarity, generosity, and conviction. Instead of thoughtful sentences, I had an internal echo chamber of other people’s anger.

That’s when I realized this wasn’t a productivity issue.

It was a boundaries issue.

So I Called a Comedian

When I get stuck in my own head, I try to disrupt the pattern.

So I reached out to a fellow writer, who also happens to be a comedian, on another continent.

If you’re going to ask someone how to break writer’s block caused by exposure to hate, a comedian might be the perfect person.

His response was disarmingly simple. He essentially said you don’t break writer’s block by forcing better thoughts. You break it by changing the input.

That hit me.

As grant writers, consultants, nonprofit leaders, we’re trained to push through. Meet the deadline. Produce the deliverable. Submit the proposal. Whether the federal funding landscape is shifting because of discretionary rescissions or a shutdown threat , we show up and do the work.

But creativity doesn’t respond well to force.

It responds to oxygen.

My Strategy: Clean the Mental Air

Here’s what I did.

I curated my inputs.
For a week, I intentionally limited exposure to polarizing commentary, both in meetings and online. I listened to smart, funny voices instead. A few hours on YouTube watching stand-up clips didn’t hurt. Not because I needed to avoid reality, but because I needed to remember that wit, nuance, and empathy still exist.

I changed my physical environment.
When the words wouldn’t come at my desk, I left. I wrote longhand in a notebook. I took a walk without earbuds. I let my brain wander without being fed anyone else’s opinion.

I wrote something I wasn’t going to publish.
This was key. I opened a blank document and wrote exactly what I was feeling, uncensored. Not polished. Not strategic. Just honest. It was never meant for the blog. It was meant to clear the pipes. Most of it got deleted. What’s left is this article.

When none of that worked.
I did something I very rarely ever do. I took on a pro bono project. I wrote something for someone very integral at the start of my career. I wrote something 100% certain to be funded. I wrote something I am certain I agree with 100%.

Because nonprofits matter.
Because communities matter.
Because thoughtful, strategic funding conversations matter.
Because what unites us still matters, even when it’s buried under noise.

Once I did something for someone else, not because they were paying me, because I care, the words started coming back.

Why This Matters for Nonprofit Leaders

If you’re leading an organization right now, you are likely navigating:

• Polarized board members.

• Divisive community conversations.

• Funding shifts that feel political.

• Clients or donors with strong opinions.

And you still have to write the grant.
Send the newsletter.
Draft the strategic plan.
Lead the meeting.

Exposure to constant negativity doesn’t just impact morale.

It impacts creativity.
Clarity.
Decision-making.

If you’re feeling blocked, creatively or strategically, it may not be because you lack skill.

It may be because you need to change your inputs.

The Unexpected Gift of Humor

Here’s the part I didn’t anticipate.

Humor didn’t trivialize the seriousness of what I was hearing in those meetings.

It rebalanced it.

Comedians are masters at observing human absurdity without surrendering to cynicism. They name what’s ridiculous. They spotlight contradictions. They find the shared human thread, even in messiness.

That perspective reminded me: disagreement is not new. Division is not new. What’s new is the amplification.

And amplification can be managed.

The Words Are Back

This week’s blog is proof.

Not because everything in the world feels lighter.

But because I was intentional about protecting the mental space where my writing lives.

If you’re in a season where the rhetoric around you is loud, sharp, or exhausting, consider this your permission slip:

You are allowed to curate your inputs.
You are allowed to step away.
You are allowed to refill before you produce.

Writer’s block isn’t always about discipline.

Sometimes it’s about detox.

And sometimes, the best strategic move you can make, for your writing, your leadership, and your organization, is to change the channel long enough to hear your own voice again.

A Final Thought 

Check yourself. Don’t assume everyone around you agrees with you every time you open your mouth. Don’t just curate your inputs. Curate your outputs, too. One unfortunate nonprofit lost its spot in our client portfolio and was replaced by an organization doing work we care deeply about. Neither of them have enough money to pay us to put words on paper for them, but one doesn’t have to.