Am I a good writer? Do I have what it takes?
Can I focus for long enough? Can I get the creative juices flowing?
Will anyone (other than my boyfriend) recognize me?
Will I be better than the others? Good enough to be published? Good enough to make a difference in someone’s life?
Will I be able to let go of my perfectionism and just…write?
Will I be able to let go of my desire to be liked? Admired? Appreciated?
Is it normal to have the desire to be appreciated so much? Or is that just how I’m wired? Have I always been like that?
I remember being in Kindergarten, sitting around a table with several other children…maybe 5 or 6 of them. And they were all talking about which words they could spell. Mom. Dog. And then I piped up. I could spell Mother. I wanted them to know that I was amazing. I wanted the teacher to know too, I think. I wanted to be liked for my giftedness.
God, it’s so hard to refer to myself as gifted. I know it’s true but it makes me feel all…gross and icky. Like I’m trying way too hard. Like I just want to be liked.
But people who I trust say it’s true. And the teachers said it was true. I am gifted. And now that I’m an adult, there aren’t programs to help me navigate. There aren’t stretch assignments that people will give me to keep me engaged. I mean, there are stretch assignments, but I have to go find them. And that takes energy, and confidence, and drive. And those things elude me at this moment in time. All because I resist where I am. I resist my job. I resist my career.
I resist so much. I resist my apartment. I resist my boyfriend. I resist my desires and needs. I resist my body. I resist my personality. I resist my friends, or lack thereof.
I resist so much and then all I’m left with is…well, really nothing. Because once you’ve pushed everything away, the only thing that’s left is…you.
And that’s a scary thing to be left alone with.