Self Doubt

Even as I post this, I'm wondering if I should. After all, friends and family read this and the natural response to discouragement is encouragement. But this isn't about that. It's about me trying to figure things out. All of that authenticity and transparency that blogging serves as a discipline for.

And now that I re-read that first paragraph I realize that it makes no sense whatsoever In fact, it sucks so perfectly horribly that how can I even say I'm a writer? (Because it does actually say that in the header of this blog.)

And if you are thoroughly and completely confused, well, thank you. You've now joined the status of my head for the past month.

I don't know when it happened, but somewhere along the way I've become completely immersed in self-doubt. For a girl who cut her teeth on performance-based acceptance and tends to set course on some intangible internal radar, this is the worst possible sort of malady.

I don't know what to do. Where to go. Who to be.

Somehow the discouragement hit me to the core and flipped a switch, and all of the sweet words about how wonderful I am (husband) or even affirmation in my profession that I'm "doing it right" (meetings this week) and I still feel this awkward feeling like I just don't fit. That I'm simply not enough.

Intellectually, I'm okay. I see my accomplishments. The tasks I check off. The dollars I produce. But on a heart level there is a miss. As if somehow all the i's and the e's went away. (Ideas, imagination, intuition, insight, inspiration. Enchantment, excitement, emotion, empathy, edge.)

I wish I could flip the switch back again. I wish I knew my place in the story. And I fear that this will produce a slew of "you're okay" comments--which though nice, can't fix the problem. (John's been pretty fabulous at immersing me in it lately.)

What I'd really like to know is what you do to get it back? The i's and the e's. How do you reignite them when they pack up and move away?

I do have the advanced marker class on Saturday. But my guess is pinning all my hopes on that is a lot to ask.
© Random Cathy
Maira Gall