So another Friday post–
My desires and drive to write more and more has only intensified. I try so hard to keep it going, even on the worst of days. On those dark low days, I push through and pump out some stuff that I’m pretty proud of, but there are things that I don’t find well done. I don’t have the overall confidence yet. I feel as if I don’t have consistency.
I continue to post. I try not to think whether the stuff is good or not because the point is to practice, to travel that road to get better.
That turns into a fight with myself.
The sadness, the anxiety, I feel, causes so many issues with my writing. Whether that is true or not–I don’t know.
It’s frustrating. Because I want to be confident, I want to be proud and happy.
I love posting, I love writing–I just don’t love myself.
I’m my harshest critique. And my harshest critique loves to sap my creativity, and sometimes, my hope that I will eventually improve.
My brain, my writing smarts, tells me that I’m doing fine. Maybe not great. But I’ve been posting for a good bit. I should be proud.
I am proud.
I want to be better. I want to write better. Faster. More efficiently. I never feel as if I’m doing enough. When I reach a milestone, I create my own anxiety by ripping away my own valid credit.
And I know I’m doing it. I want to stop and just focus on being a happy writer.
Critiquing one’s own work is part of the process. I need to remember not to be so hard on myself. Because I’m still a writer. Whether I have that confidence in my own writing or not.
I’m still a writer. I still love writing.
And I’ll always push through. Maybe I’ll never be good enough. Maybe one day I’ll convince myself that my writing is worthy.
All I know for sure is that I can’t stop. Not now. Not ever.
I will never stop.