Belief. 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 also can believe in me, when someone else stops to say, “Hey, I really think you’re good at this.” I’ve never been one to automatically believe in myself. 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 yesterday is an understatement. I’m sick with goodness only knows what-probably some allergic reaction which may send me into anaphylactic shock soon. I am overly tired and I have five kittens and their special needs mama outnumbering me. (Queenie was hit by a car and is recovering, but slowly. Still have some nerve damage we’re working on.) I read a tweet which made me think of my own failures in life, and down the rabbit hole I went. One bad thought created another bad thought created another…another…another…another…
At some point yesterday, 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 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 2.5 years 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.
I started editing.
I started seeing the plotline better.
I started feeling better.
By the time I finished two chapters, I felt better. I’m not saying that I’m anywhere close to fix, 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 over the weekend (before this emotional meltdown) and listened to some fantastic speakers discuss their experiences with the self-publishing world. 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?
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…
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