We all have days when we question if what we’re doing is right for us. I do. I don’t know a person who doesn’t, but it isn’t the insecurity you need to worry about: it’s what you do about those insecurities that will make or break you.
I had a terrible day on Monday. I wish I could sugar coat it and say that it wasn’t too bad, but I literally didn’t get out of bed until 5pm. I’d had a great plan the night before about what I was going to work on, and what my schedule was going to look like, but when I woke up I honestly felt like I couldn’t move because I was so wrapped up in doubt.
This wasn’t normal. I might question whether I’m doing enough during the week, whether I should try and be more aggressive about promoting my writing, blah blah blah. This was something else entirely. I was thinking about giving up.
I wanted to give up.
I wanted to not have to worry. I wanted to stop questioning every move I made. I wanted someone else to make the decisions for me. All day on Monday I wanted to quit. I just wanted to be able to not feel stressed when my hubby asked me how my day went.
I wanted a structure that wasn’t self-imposed, and although all careers are difficult, I wanted a career that I perceived to be easier than the one I’d chosen.
I cried myself into an exhausted sleep multiple times yesterday. I didn’t think about writing. I didn’t read. I dreamed of having someone else’s life and wondering if I’d made a mistake.
But that was Monday.
I got up on Tuesday, told myself it was ok to have those days so long as I kept moving after the fact. I spent Tuesday writing in notebooks, organizing my favorite books, and editing some work I hadn’t looked at in a while.
I dug out the books that I fell in love with in the first place and read them all over again. I went to the bookstore and found a new collection of books that had writing so wonderful it made me want to write beautiful stories.
Rather than deny Monday had happened I tried to spend the day flowing from one activity to another. I know part of the reason Monday happened was that I worry that I haven’t come far enough since graduating. It’s been two years, and I was hoping to have more done. The other (far scarier) reason to me was that writing had become to feel like a chore.
I didn’t feel like I was telling a story when I sat down to write. I didn’t feel like I was off on an adventure or solving a mystery. It felt like a battle with myself to try and make everything as profound as possible, and I was insanely bored with that task.
I’m trying to find the fun. I’m getting out of my head and simply going along for the ride. I’ll go where my characters take me. I’ll share their adventures, and I’ll revel in their discoveries.
That’s why I started, and it’s best to remember that on days when the doubts try to get the better of me.