Belief is validation without the context of the outside world. It is one of the hardest realms to exist in.
At least for me.
I have always been the one who believes in others before myself. I can validate the best of them, without question. I will be the biggest cheerleader for anyone else, but me. I also can believe in me, when someone else stops to say, “Hey, I really think you’re good at this.” Yep, that’s right. You are right, my friend. I am good at this. Yet, I’ve never been one to automatically believe in myself without provocation. Yeah…instead I have to have someone else to represent me, before I can. I need validation. I crave it. It seems so simple to validate one’s self, and yet, I struggle to do so. And yet, I see others who are self-validated, constantly pushing their belief further, faster, farther. So what am I missing?
From an outside perceptive, self-belief seems like an innate, involuntary motion in others. How did I lose the genetic lottery on this one?
To say I had a bad day today is an understatement. I tried to focus on my book, on my manifestations, but I was drunk on the notion of reality. It’s not happening. It hasn’t happened. It’s not going to happen. One bad thought created another bad thought created another…another…another…another…
At some point today, I literally said to myself: Why the hell do I do any of this? Why do I bother writing? I am invisible to the world.
I ask myself this regularly. Too often, I’m afraid.
I considered a great many things at this point. I won’t lie, it did get dark for a moment, but then I opened up a WIP, just to get my fingers moving on something other than how I could self-implode without getting the floor dirty. It was a story I started a few months ago, focused on a place I had just visited and fell in love with. I read on, remembering the plot, the characters, the action. Remember all the places I physically touched while there, now populating my fictional world. The story arc I created for four novels.
I started editing.
I started seeing the plotline better.
I’m not feeling better.
I need to feel better.
By the time I finally forced about hundred words out, I felt better. Sort of. I’m not saying that I’m anywhere close to being fixed, and maybe I need to slip back into therapy to work on some things, but I did feel validated to a degree. I went to a self-publishing workshop a while back and listened to some fantastic speakers discuss their experiences with the self-publishing world. Their words kept back to me as I tried to focus. They were confident. They were bold. Most of them had ditched small press or publishing houses to have more control over their careers. None of them seemed worried about validation.
Again, why do I require it? Why must I have external validation?
Why are my hopes and dreams pinned to someone else telling me my shit is good?
I know I will never be whole with this external validation. I’ll just want more and more and more until neither the world nor my ego can withstand the weight of consumption. There is something greater I am seeking here, and I don’t know if I can find it, but I can’t stop looking. I have to look. I have to seek. I have to try. And it is my writing it is connected too.
Writing is the conduit. Writing is the validation I am seeking. But it will take time to accept and acknowledge this thought into being. There will be more dark days ahead, but as long as my fingers work, I have a great defense in place.
Until next time…
Like my blog? Why not try my novel? Big city actor falls for small-town historian, reigniting a moonshining feud. Things are about to get real messy, but can their love survive?