Something happened to me today for the first time: I couldn't write.
Not because of writer's block - the story is there - but because the subject matter is too close to my own reality.
For me, writing is a way to make sense of the world through ordering words on a page, just as when I was a child reading was a way of making sense of things when my immediate world did not. Each world between the pages had a beginning, middle and an end. They were dependable worlds. The real world - not so much.