Deep in my heart, I’m a writer. I’ve always been a writer. As a child, that was my ‘When I’m grown up I’m going to be…’ I have always had a deep love of books, magazines, words, language. I studied writing. I value writing. I know I am (mostly) good at writing.
I’ve worked in some kind of writing all my adult life. One of my first jobs was creating quiz questions for Teletext (ahem, showing my age) and then I went on to work in editing, magazine features, blogs, websites and now social media.
Yet, I still feel unworthy and stuck. I have imposter syndrome. My brain tells me that I haven’t done enough writing yet to call myself that. (It’s been about 22 years.) Or that I can’t be a writer because I am not currently making money from it.
My internal monologue tells me I am not good enough. I am not interesting. I am being self-indulgent. I am not an expert. This comes up hugely when I thinking about this Happy Mums stuff – I don’t want to position myself as some kind of happiness/mindfulness guru but I do want to share what works for me in maintaining a life that’s vaguely satisfying.
That’s one of the cornerstones of blogging, surely? Personal experience.
My rational mind knows all this is bollocks and is some kind of fear/shame related baggage from my past, but it’s so hard to move past this.
So, as well as working with a coach, I am doing what I know best. Writing. I have realised that I want to write for me. If no one reads it, that’s fine. I need to write and the only way to move past these feelings is to write. Finish up all those half-completed blog posts that swirl around in my head.
A ‘real’ writer once told me it all starts with putting your bum on a seat.
My bum is on my seat. I can’t promise every post will be a good one, but I hope you’ll stick with me and enjoy my writing, find something that speaks to you or learn something along the way. Maybe I will, too.