A Year of Fear and Writing
Two days ago I sat to write and fell into tears. Working through difficult things, my hands became conduits of pain. The words grew dark and disgusting. Not wanting to share raw blatherings here, I closed my laptop, and went to Twitter for support. After a few hours of conversing with other writers and friends, I returned to my blog and was able to publish an authentic, yet sanitized post.
That day marked my one year anniversary of writing. I didn’t realize it until this morning. I knew the day was approaching, and had intended to mark it with a celebration. I was going to give something away, find myself a treat, and write about how writing has changed my life. Instead, I barely held on to my writing practice, and struggled to hear my voice.
It’s fitting that I began my writing practice with a statement of fear, then found myself a year later, wading through more fear. Fear, fear, fear. I’m so sick of it. Every day I rise and take its hand. Every night I tuck in with it on my pillow. I don’t expect to stop being afraid, because my fear is real, and comes from a valid place. But I’ll tell you something I’ve learned this year- fear is not a life-stop. It is not a break. Fear is a feeling. It is a reason to keep moving.
It’s not like I’ve done a poll, but through candid conversations, I know that one of my best qualities is tenacity. Do you know where my persistence comes from? Fear. The worry that this is the best I can feel. The worry that I’ll never be better. I’m driven by those fears.
I am grateful I have the gumption to feel scared and act anyway. I am grateful courage is always on tap. I am grateful that when life seems too much to bear, I rarely cower. “Come along, Fear,” I say, and I keep moving forward.
Have you thought of starting a writing practice? Is fear in the way? I invite you to take up a pen and scribble something down about that fear, which to me seems less scary when written in pink ink. <3