“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure…”
– Marianne Williamson
Want to shoot out a quick post, to put my thoughts into words. I’ve been journaling, which is nice, but I haven’t written anything for this damn site in forever and really that’s where my thoughts should be going! I’m wasting all my good material on myself, haha. So, world, I apologize – you will now be subjected to a lot of unfiltered, unpolished thoughts.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this site and about my hopes and dreams of becoming a full-time blogger, writing e-books and getting hired to write for others, traveling, speaking, making a difference. I love dreaming about these things and I do, often. The problem is, I can’t seem to get myself to sit down and actually do it. Every time I think about writing something or working on a site redesign, I become paralyzed and end up usually watching TV instead, and go back to daydreaming about being successful.
Part of the problem is that I’m a perfectionist – I can’t just blast out a blog post, I have to meticulously build one over weeks or months (which is why this spontaneous post is kind of landmark for me). I don’t want to write for the site to drive traffic because I don’t like the design, even though I always knew this design was temporary and mainly done just to get the site up and running. I get inspired to write about something but then I think it won’t be good or original enough so I stop before I start.
But really, the truth is that I’m afraid of both success and failure, in equal measure. I’m afraid to really try, because as long as I’m not really trying, I can’t be failing. I can always say that there were things I didn’t do, and that’s why it didn’t work, not because I wasn’t good enough or people didn’t like what I have to offer. If I officially fail, if I find out that I have nothing to offer the world, my dreams will die and I will have nothing to give me that rush of hope after a long workday of doing things for other people.
On the flip side, I have to admit that there is a squishy, vulnerable part of me deep down, a part I am desperate to hide from everyone, that still doesn’t believe I deserve success. So if I try and it works, my achievements will be a fraud. I feel that way a lot – when people tell me I’m pretty, when I get recognized at work, when I’m told I have nice skin. Hearing those things makes my skin crawl, like there’s an alien me underneath my shell, faking the whole thing, trying to assimilate and go unnoticed. I want to scream sometimes, and say, “How can you say that? How can you not see how fat/weak/ugly/different I am?!”
I’ve been staring at this truth for a little while. I’ve been doing some self-discovery, there’s hope. I’ve learned a lot of these feelings stem from two monstrously influential places: my dysfunctional upbringing and a mild case of body dysmorphic disorder (stay tuned kids, more on that later!). I learned adult children of alcoholics often feel different, have a hard time completing projects, struggle with knowing what’s normal and therefore overly sensitive about doing the wrong thing – all things I’ve been crippled by, all things that have made me feel useless and confused my whole adult life.
So I have hope. I have a direction. I have something to focus on that isn’t just me being weak and a loser. I have something more specific I can bring to a therapist than, “I’m tired and I feel disconnected.” Knowing that it’s not all my fault helps tremendously – knowing that it’s in my power to change gives me courage and strength. I don’t feel (as much) like I’m battling myself anymore, I feel like I’m battling what happened to me. I have more compassion for myself.
I don’t have a real purpose in this post, other than to share my honest feelings and maybe connect with others who are feeling the same way. I’m also hoping to write a lot about my discoveries in hopes that someone else reading might one day have the same epiphany as me and find hope in realizing where their issues originated.