Gotta just get back out there. Keep writing. Gotta get this back up to a daily kind of thing. It’ll be like riding a bike, just you wait. It’s a skill set you already have, and can’t lose. Muscle memory will kick back in. Just write, and write, and it will begin to feel better. Easier. More rewarding. You will start remembering what it’s like to be proud of your writing, and to walk around feeling proud of something no one can see. To know you’ve written something well that no one has read, that feeling like you’re practically wearing a space helmet as you wander around work and elsewhere, peering out at unconcerned coworkers and passersby like passing space fauna, all these people who have never read you and will never read you and do not, if they’re being honest with themselves, really love to read to begin with, listening to your own breath inside the helmet, the rounded echoes of your little grunts and sniffs.
You will remember the weight of un-validated talent. The fatigue that sets in. You will narrate about yourself, to yourself, half for practice and half because you can’t seem to turn it off. Like wearing a kind of space helmet of self-awareness. Avoiding resentment? Denying yourself resentment? However you handled the resentment before, you’ll go back to that.