Nothing looks as good as finishing feels.
18 untitled Pages documents.
2 Chrome Browsers.
45 tabs open.
My brain and my focus are sprawled across each of these open tabs, and I can’t think straight. I can’t concentrate and I don’t know what I think anymore.
I don’t even know who I am.
I joke that I never fact check my work, but it’s mainly because if I do, I fall into the ocean of self-doubt and I can’t escape.
Lifeboats are few and far between in the ocean of self-doubt.
There are no islands, and there are no rescues.
There is no respite.
I drown in there.
I drown in all those open tabs.
My creativity, my productivity, my motivation — they all sink to the bottom of the deep blue sea of Self Doubt and they settle there in the murky bottom of Procrastination and Lost Hopes.
It’s where projects and ideas go to die.
My god, being a ‘creative’ is a curse. Wanting to write is a pain in the arse.
To begin with, I had this massive fear of saying anything.
Let’s just start there because my list of fears is too enormous and too overwhelming to put all in one place.
So, fear of expressing myself.
That one’s a bastard.
It keeps people quiet. It silences their hopes, dreams, desires and opinions.
So I did a bit of work on that.
This might not be your bag, but it worked for me — some good old fashioned throat chakra unblocking.
I felt great. I talked a lot. I published some stuff.
But then, boom.
Fear of Criticism reared its ugly head.
I thought I’d handled that one.
I’d like to say I moved smoothly through that with practice — but in actual fact, I was paralysed with fear for about 9 months. Nope, there was no baby involved. I just had to find a little faith in myself and let it gestate, let it grow, nurture it.
Admittedly, I had reacted quite badly to that one and my immediate response was to turn in the opposite direction and run away as fast as I could.
It took that near year to come back to myself, come back to my goals and my ambitions, and try again.
In that time, I told myself that it was fear of publishing.
I hate hitting publish.
I hate the finality of it. It makes my teeth sweat.
Even though in this day and age I can go back and edit to my heart’s content — and so I do.
I leave posts half written, or mostly written, or what is most often the case — just a title.
And I procrastinate.
I drag my heels.
I let each little piece of creativity, each half baked thought and half written post wallow in the mud. Half way out of my head and into the world — destined to live forever in the In Between.
Can you hear all the tiny violins?
I get to sit through that drama on a daily basis.
I get to repeat that story to myself over and over and over.
I get to live out that self fulfilling prophecy that starts with a dream and circles back through some classic self sabotage — ad infinitum.
Until I jack up my self discipline.
Until I ride the waves of action.
Until I actually see something through.
Until I can sit tight through the resistance — the discomfort of finally finishing something and birth it out into the world.
Ready to be seen, heard, judged, criticised, taken down, torn apart — or — god forbid, it actually gets appreciated.
When I can weather those storms of resistance and the discomfort of holding myself accountable and finally finishing something — wonderful things happen.
Once the publish button is pushed, I walk away.
I can close down each tab, one by glorious one.
I close all of my browsers, close down my documents and walk away. I feel lighter.
I am absolved.
I am complete.
I am done.