Overcoming the Fear of Drawing: Start with a Scribble
A gentle, artist-tested way to turn fear into freedom
The longer I stare at a blank page, the scarier it gets. My shoulders tense, my breathing goes shallow, and it feels like the page is staring back at me. But the moment I put down any mark — even a messy, crooked line — the fear loses its grip. Courage, it turns out, often looks like a scribble.
If you’ve ever sat frozen over a sketchbook, you’re in good company. The fear of beginning is ancient and universal — and it’s not even “your fault.”
Why the Blank Page Feels Scary
Deep inside your brain lives the amygdala — a tiny almond-shaped alarm bell. It’s always scanning for danger, and sometimes it mistakes a blank page for a puma. It predicts that starting might hurt: you’ll fail, you’ll waste paper, you’ll prove you’re “not good enough.” And if you avoid starting, your brain takes that as confirmation that yep, the danger was real. So next time, the page feels even scarier.
Good News: Fear Can Be Retrained
That’s why avoidance so often feeds perfectionism, self-criticism, and that spiral of “what’s the point?” But here’s the good news: we can retrain the brain. The trick is to meet the fear instead of fleeing it — to gently prove to your amygdala that nothing bad happens when you begin.
A Simple Practice
Here’s one way you can practice meeting the blank page, especially when you feel that dread building before you start:
Choose something simple to draw.
Name the feeling. When you see the blank page and feel discomfort, say to yourself: Oh, there’s that feeling.
Breathe into it. Notice the sensations in your chest. Take a few slow breaths, feeling your chest rise and fall.
Soften your gaze. Look at your subject while keeping your breath steady. If your thoughts start chattering, come back to your breath.
Make the first mark. It doesn’t have to be good — it just has to be there.
Keep going, gently returning to your breath if you find yourself getting caught up in your thoughts or fears.
One of my favorite ways to gently approach fear is by working in ink. Ink doesn’t let me erase. Every line — hesitant, wobbly, or wildly wrong — stays on the page. At first, that’s terrifying. But over time, it’s strangely freeing. I stop expecting perfection from my first line and start making peace with the fact that mistakes are part of the drawing, not evidence of failure. The ink teaches me to keep going, to adapt, to turn a “wrong” line into part of the picture.
Each time we face that blank page, we’re not just making a drawing — we’re quietly teaching our brain a new story: that starting is safe, and courage can be as small and scribbly as the first mark.
Your turn — what does courage look like on your page? A shaky line? A messy thumbnail? I’d love to hear about (or see) it.
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Thanks for explaining this reluctance to attempt that first pen stroke. It’s a relief to know this is quite common. My sketch pad and pen are sitting right next to me. Waiting.
I have to really start pushing out the negative self talk. My writing mentor told me one time when I said something I wrote was stupid: "You would never talk to your friend, Lisa, that way, would you?" It's taught me to quit berating myself and just lean into the process. This is SO helpful! Thanks for posting this.