A Reflection on Comfort Zones

It has been just over a month since I last posted and since then, I have spent nearly every day writing, trying to treat the process almost like a full-time job. And despite all the workshops, writers groups, and critique meetings, every single day I feel a little less convinced that I can do this. Though I certainly have my moments of clarity and conviction, more frequent are the days where I've been sitting in front of the computer for three straight hours trying to shape a story into something that is relatable, beautiful, and relevant. I'm trying to write a story that I would want to read. And I feel in over my head. 

Earlier in the year when I had first begun therapy in an effort to figure myself out and make better choices for my mental health, one of the things that I learned is that my need for control impedes my ability to start projects. It's turning out to be true that my deep fear of failure has begun to take control of my hands and of my thoughts, coloring every waking moment with an utterance of imminent disgrace. 

I will fail as I have failed at so many things before. This will never work. No one would care about this story. 

Maybe every writer feels this way sometimes. I have no idea. I would bet that if I asked some of the folks in my writers' groups if they've ever shared this sentiment, I would get abundant support in kind but it doesn't make the feeling of being a dilettante go away. In opposition, it makes me feel as though my fears are confirmed: no matter to what extent I try my hand at this project, it will ultimately fail and I'll be forced back into a corporate 9-5 world.

Perhaps it's a testament to my willpower, or at least my strong desire to avoid a traditional job, I've continued to push forward because even though I am wildly uncertain about this endeavor, I have nothing to lose by failing if that's the outcome for which I am destined. 

Moving on! Let's talk about comfort zones. 

I have been doing a lot of introspection lately. Maybe this makes me seem hubristic but doing the work of identifying and articulating my experience in such a way that tells a beautiful story is kind of emotionally draining work. I am constantly in my own head, thinking about and analyzing and examining every facet of my life. What motivates me in these situations? What are the consequences of my actions? How can I relay this in a relevant way? 

The more work I do to figure myself out, the more apparent it is how much work I have yet to do. So far, I'm realizing that I don't like myself very much. Who would have thought? Tom is often on my case for being so self-defeating or in the moments when I'm half-joking that he could do better than me, he'll look at me in such a way that makes me feel almost guilty for even saying it much less thinking it. Pulling back the layers of my own psyche has proved to be, as mentioned, an incredibly draining experience so far. Do all writers feel this way at times? That penning a story is so taxing that they emotionally shut down? I've felt that way so much lately and don't know how to stop myself from jumping headfirst back into that pit of despair.  

It goes without saying that all of this work I've been doing between trying to compartmentalize my experience to figuring out my path in this story to trying to work up the courage to build a social media platform has been really uncomfortable. So far, I've only ever told a handful of close friends and family about this wacky enterprise. I'm not even brave enough to tell other people yet. The other day, I sat down to write out a basic script of what I  might try to say on my Instagram page so I can begin branching out to hopefully find some new followers and I came up blank. I couldn't say anything. The idea of sitting down in front of a camera to tell my story just made me....ugh. 

If I'm lucky, this problem may solve itself as I continue to work on this story; as the story unfolds, it seems possible that my comfort level will grow with it. But for now, until I am much more brave and far less of an absolute weenie, I suppose I'll just focus on writing itself. That's the goal, right? 

Until next time.