I’m sitting here staring at the computer screen, wondering why I haven’t written anything here in so long. This is not the first time I’ve sat like this.
There was a time when one of the most joyful moments of my day was settling in with a cup of hot coffee to write on my blog. But then it all changed. I felt as if I had nothing more to say, at least on the topics I’d been writing about. As time went on, and I didn’t write, other things came along to fill my time. And when I sat back down to write, nothing came to me. The very act of sitting down to compose for my blog started to give me anxiety.
Those of you who know me well know that anxiety is something I’ve struggled with for most of my adult life. It manifests in very strange ways sometimes. That it had manifested into anxiety over writing was very strange indeed. After all, writing was my happy place! Why then, all of a sudden, was I afraid of it? I get butterflies when I sit down to write for myself. I’m afraid I’ll have nothing to say. I’m worried it won’t be good enough. That nobody will care. Now that I see these words on the page it all seems so silly. After all, I don’t write for others. I really do it for myself first, and if it happens to resonate with others along the way, that’s great.
But for now, the thought of composing and publishing my thoughts and ideas fills me with dread. It makes my heart beat faster, and my mind spin. I don’t want it to be like this.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about my anxiety disorder, it’s that sometimes I have to push through the things that make me anxious, especially if my fear is preventing me from doing something I love. And this irrational fear I have of writing IS preventing me from pursuing that which I love.
So I’m pushing through it. I’m ignoring the panicked feelings and just letting the words flow out onto the screen. I’m ignoring the voices that are telling me it’s a bunch of BS and that nobody will care.
And here it is. The result of the push.
I’ve got this.
