WRITING AND ME: A Constant Struggle

A few days easily turn into a few weeks, and before I know, life sucks me into its embrace. I lay awake at night thinking of what’s to come, and wake up thinking of what’s become. Suddenly, I’m no longer present, simply shifting between the past and the future. Still, isn’t that what life has become for most of us? A constant struggle of what has happened and what will happen, rarely do we give thought to what is happening now.

Anyway, I’m not sure about others, but I know that to be true for myself.

I find that writing gives me permission and the tool to be present. At least, to the best of my abilities, and depending on the day, I sometimes can achieve that. Most of the time, however, I struggle to pick up the pen so to speak. There is a fear that holds me back, and I find it difficult to type out words freely and without inner judgement. I’m not sure exactly what I could do about it, but since starting this blog, I’ve succeeded in partially addressing that issue by setting small writing goals, and cutting myself some slack.

Of course, in general, I’m still avoiding the root of the issue: I’m not writing as much as I want, nor as much as I should, nor even as much as I could. And what I have realized from the not-writing part that I’ve been at for a while now is that no one can make me a writer. No amount of criticism or praise can force to “take a pencil and connect it to my brain.” No outside force, personal or otherwise, can guide me through my writing journey. I have to be the one to do it.

I have to give myself permission to write, as much as writing gives me permission to be myself. I can’t continue to shit out excuses, or write boring, filler content trying to avoid what I truly want to do. I can’t avoid just because I lack the confidence in the authenticity of my wants and needs.

I can’t bullshit my way through writing as I do with life, even if it’s perfectly common and acceptable to do so. That is an insult to all writers out there, and even more of insult to writing itself, which deserves more respect than I have given it thus far.

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