Prompt #11: Journal about a fear you have concerning writing. Try to find the why behind the fear and how you could work through the fear instead of ignore it.
Okay then. Jump right in where it hurts…
This is going to be an interesting one. I am curious to see where it goes, so I will treat it like any other automatic writing session. I will spend the following two pages typing down whatever comes to mind.
Ready, Go.
Internal writer, what scares you about your craft?
That they will figure you out? That your contents aren’t original enough? My material is stale, polluted with basic concepts already thought of before? Snooze… That I won’t live up to my own standards?
Maybe.
Maybe I’m afraid it will just be a copy of a copy no matter what I write. Something, or many little things I’ve thrown together. A mixture of all the junk and noise I’ve taken in over the years compiled into my own personal bundle of nonsense.
Maybe it’s that I’m afraid to manifest something outside of what’s helpful to humanity. Or I never live up to the pictures that come to my mind to keep me company. I don’t want them to ever stop because I can’t do them justice. I am afraid that I will disappoint myself and the contract holders that met me on entry with the entire blueprint of the how, why, when, where… I’m afraid I’ll expose the ultimate truth that I’m lost in the dark trying to make sense of the light I’ve gleaned so much light from and still don’t understand.
Some moments when I’m really getting into a scene, I have this little mid-race heart flux. Like a cramp where instead of my lungs seizing up and forgetting how to function correctly or my side caving in on itself, it’s my heart that aches. The colors and scenes pouring in are so fantastic. I have a woah is me moment where I refract back to my inner me. What makes you think you can depict this? You don’t have the emotive bandwidth… Thoughts like these glide in through the opening left by the shadow of a doubt. Who am I? Who are you? I didn’t spin them up. They found me. The least I can do is try and hope they see my words the way a loving parent might see their little artist’s first attempts at drawing a cat or something.
I will think more deeply about this concept moving forward today and reflect on what I find at the end. This is my preliminary, most basic thoughts over the prompt topic, what am I afraid of in writing. I know they run deeper than that.
I’m going to chew on this.
THOUGHTS…
THREE HOURS LATER:
I’ve been testing and prying. It turns out the root ran a little deeper than what’s on the surface. I think, under those initial fears, I’m afraid of what I might see. I love life. I love the little adventures it buries around every corner. Just hoping we will follow our intuitions straight to them. I, for one, have been trying to walk a straight line lately. As a person. A writer. A sister. An auntie. A healer. A lover…
I’m starting to realize none of those titles are linear. That’s what makes them so precious and unique. They are constantly evolving concepts capable of growth and death at any given time. How I move is up to me. Will I be loving, or will I be dying?
I’ve harbored a fear throughout my journey into writing. It wears a thousand faces and whispers in at the most inconvenient moments. What if it isn’t enough? What if what I come across catches me off guard. What if I am not enough? What if when everything else is stripped away, they reject me and what I have to offer at the bare minimum while I’m flinging myself into this cluttered landscape. What if I’m not enough and then, like a fairy, as their belief in me dwindles, I begin to question myself. I have to…
Stop…
That’s it. That’s what I can do to help face down these feelings. I can stop feeding them my energy. I can take a few deep breathes when the doubt and fear start speeding up my heart and tightening around my neck as it shallows my breathing. I can starve the parasitic thoughts and feed the void they create better things. I can picture opposing views to the negative ones that seem to display themselves so readily.
These negative thoughts don’t lead me anywhere productive. My mind is my own. I must protect it and do what benefits the collective in whatever way I can at any given point. If all I have to offer is my best wishes and a smile. I will offer it. I am enough. Everything I need finds me and needs me as equally as I require and desire it. As I grow hungrier for the life, I have imagined. I am grateful for my time and pay attention to which versions of myself I spend my time in. The thoughts that show up are invitations I can pursue or pass by.
A fear I’ve harbored and I am ready to part ways with is feeling as though everything I’ve sacrificed along my journey will feel pointless if I don’t get this right. I have to know it will turn out in my best interest. Whenever I start to feel discouraged, I think back to the moments I’ve chosen to remind me of how I came to a decision. I remind myself why I started and how beautiful the picture I saw playing out had been.
I’m afraid that I will run out of steam before I create anything that does for others what different books did for me as a child. Suppose I run out of steam before making anything meaningful. In that case, it will forever feel like running the first 24 miles of a marathon only to stop short. Missing the mark by such a small fraction, I’d always wonder how it would have been different if I’d just seen it through.
This nugget gets me every time I think about it, so it must be a juicy root. It’s the carrot at the end of the stick, a goal post that’s constantly on the move. I just have to keep paying attention to its positioning at any given moment. No pressure. Stay focused and centered. Stay in motion and know when to stop. I’ve struggled with this lesson enough to understand its importance.
That’s another thing. After I finished writing the first section of this prompt, my mother called. While we were talking, she brought up a point that resonated in a familiar way to me. You can only give from the contents you contain. If your cup is empty, give nothing until you’ve been replenished and are giving freely from overflow. Or something like that. That’s how I remember it when I think of the saying now.
I am open to overflow. For the first time in my life, I am looking at the entire journey as a culmination of chemical reactions leading me to my current state of manifestation. I couldn’t be more grateful in that sense for everything I’ve encountered that has allowed me to pass through and play a part. I believe the fire inside of me will overcome the ice that’s formed over the edges of my shadow. I watch it thaw as I pay attention.
I see you, Me. I appreciate the effort and resilience you’ve projected. I know the strength it took not to fall down one too many times and stay put. I believe in why you started little me. I will persist and flourish.
I won’t let rejection, misunderstandings, or low perceptions of reality touch my heart. To combat any fear that threatens to unsettle my process, I will picture its opposite. I will imagine myself rising above the surface of the water and breathing in life-giving oxygen moving ever upward until I am walking on top. The waves licking at my toes. Then I’m running and skipping over its surface, unaware of the beasts beneath my feet. I’ve chosen my path in life, and I have no room in my process for fear. It is kindly invited to exit stage right. Forever.