I want to begin this post by thanking everyone who was understanding of my break from blogging. Decisions involving what you love to do, or anything in general really, are never easy to make.
As I write this, it’s about the middle of September. Hurricanes Harvey and Irma have ravaged Texas and Florida and the Caribbean, I found myself losing faith in my fellow man after Charlottesville, my creativity stalled altogether and the job search…becoming hopeless…feeling I was stupid for wanting to do what I love instead of playing it “safe” by going for a career where I was secured a position upon graduation.
I also found myself withdrawing from a writing opportunity with BuzzFeed for their upcoming Mental Health Awareness Week, feeling if I talked about my struggles and shared my insights, that would make career prospects even worse.
My work with YAYWORLD and HEAL(er) Mag have been nothing short of inspiring, encouraging and fulfilling. I guess I just wish there was a way I could do more things like that where I could be myself, talk about what I love and feel I’m making a difference for someone. (If you want to check out my YAYWORLD and HEAL(er) Mag contributions, go to the Portfolio tab)
The world is not what I imagined it would be when I reached 24 years old.
I’m sharing these negative emotions because I think us writers–and any artists–like pretending we’re fine and having a smile on our face when, deep down, we are falling apart and sad. That’s why The Writing Desk by Rachel Hauck (and Book Pick for August) resonated with me. I feel like a fraud, a failure, flop and mistake.
You don’t see tears being shed when my bedroom door is closed, asking God why He has forsaken me and what did I do wrong to be going through what I am.
You feel like people don’t see the real you: the imperfect but passionate, loving, real and hardworking you who just needs more people to take a chance on her. Who sees someone who loves to write and will make things brighter through words.
You just don’t feel good enough.
Someone told me recently that I am a little timid about writing, and it’s true. I am because I take my work seriously, carefully considering my intent, topic, words and story to share. I want to share the positive, but sometimes I want to be honest about the difficult things.
Writing is who I am; what saved my life as a teenager when I had no idea what I wanted to do. Writing brought out my authentic self when I couldn’t express my heart in any other way. Give me a word, theme, whatever and I’d write something.
Maybe these emotions come from further research about the writing and publishing industry through seeing the stories that I have about books (if you’re part of the Young Adult book community or avid reader you know what I’m talking about), the jobs where they want experience you don’t even have yet and just wondering how you could ever measure up to writers you always loved, admired and respected. You stop writing your novel, you forget about short stories, and you really ask yourself…
How can I write in a world where people can be so mean to each other, so quick to judge one another and where you are overlooked for a job because of something you just don’t have even when you fit?
Do you see me, or just the stories I choose to write about and share?
How can we find heart again when we lose so much in so short a time?
Why can’t we remember our self-worth–as writers and as human beings–when times get hard?