Every time I sit down to write I freeze up. I worry.
What gives me the right to write? I’m not good enough to be a writer. What do I even have to say?
These thoughts cloud my mind. So I sit in front of a blank page. Becoming overwhelmed with the doubt. Most days I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to ignore the negativity.
So, I don’t write.
Well, I do, but not something I intend to share. Which for me is the important part. The sharing. That bridges the gap between the stream of consciousness random writing I do most of the time, and something like this.
Which is still a random jumble of words. But it intended to be more cohesive than my normal stuff. But it’s all seemed overwhelming lately. Putting my words into the world. Being vulnerable.
It hasn’t just been in my writing that I’ve been afraid to be seen. It’s everywhere. In my day to day life. It’s scary to put yourself out there. I’ve been letting that fear get the best of me. Somedays, it still will. But today I’m hitting publish.