Absent Minded Muser

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This is crazy… or is it?

on July 17, 2012

This is a vein I’m going to try to follow, mostly because I think it will help me.  You see, I’ve been struggling with inadequacy.

Who hasn’t right?

For me, it goes so much deeper than some things in my life.  I can put up with just about anything, suffer through anything.  Yet, when it comes to what I love, I fall short of being able to handle it.

After I wrote my first novel and left it unfinished, I was broken.  Hurt.  The story wounded me more than I could have imagined possible.  Because it brought back to life a terrible trauma from my past – that I was not good enough.

I was reading Faith Barista just a second ago about her PTSD, it is what brought the answer to my mind, an answer that I already knew – that I felt inadequate as I always do when I write anything and get to a halfway point in it.

It blinked before me in bright lights, the fears of my past were holding me tight from my future.

What fears are they?

Fears that were instilled in me as a child by a dad who beat it into me that I was not good enough, that I could never be beautiful, that I would always be lesser.  I thought I was over it… apparently not.

For years, I’ve found writing to be a comfort.  I love putting words to page and letting the book describe itself to me, so what went wrong?

Well, when I was a teenager, I never finished a single story.  There’s a reason for that – even though I didn’t know it – fear.   I was afraid.  In my subconscious, my brain rebelled against the very idea that I might be good at anything, that what my dad made me feel like was all a lie.

How do we separate the truth from the lie? And once we do that, how do we believe the truth and not the lie, when for years we have taken the lie as gospel?

I have never asked for help from anyone but God.  I’m starting to wonder if I don’t need help, what happens if I can’t overcome this fear that chokes me every time I sit down to write?  This fear that shoves my face into my older writings (that appear better)  forcing me to believe that I can never be that good again or I was never that good anyway – especially when I read other people’s writings.  How can I compare? I’m nothing.

That’s what my fear tells me.  That little child inside looks at me and says; “don’t bother.” Because  I think I am inadequate to be a writer.

All my friends encourage me.  I can tell you it helps… for a while.  But it doesn’t go to the bottom of those black-root lies and bring life to your heart again.

I honestly don’t know how to deal with it.  I’m stuck in this limbo.  Maybe I’ll overcome it on my own or maybe I’ll forever struggle with it.  What the answer is, I don’t know.

I pray God will show me the way, because I can’t see the road ahead of me, I am blind to the light.


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