When insecurity peeps in

as I read so many wonderful writings

I don’t particularly like this feeling that is peeping in from time to time. I keep telling it that there’s no point in comparing and that we all have wonderful things to write about.

As do I…..

But call it ‘my inner critic’, or ‘impostor syndrome’, or just plain old ‘insecurity’… reading the wonderful things that other people write not only makes me very happy, but it also - on some level - makes me feel ‘not good enough’.

And for feeling this, I feel the need to apologize, because no one here has done me any harm. It’s an endless struggle in my own mind.

It’s a part of me that I’m in therapy for - I’m working on it.

It’s a part of me that I don’t like very much, because it doesn’t treat me gently or kindly like it would another struggling soul. It just reminds me, time and time again, of what I can’t do, or what I’m no use at, or not good enough for...

This insecurity has moved in permanently during midlife… I find this to be strange, because there’s also an opposite feeling roaming around in me at this age that seems to care less. Bizar how two so opposite emotions can reign within me simultaneously.

Is this the Yin and Yang of life?

The other day I noticed that my Instagram account had lost a few followers and I took it personally. I saw it as a sign that my writing is not good enough, my posts maybe even irritating. That it’s not worth the follow. That I’m not worth it.

This of course is (probably) not true (I tell myself), as I’ve learnt from common sense and countless hours of therapy. A therapy that has also helped me understand that having had emotionally unavailable parents left a (huge) mark and sensitized me to many things in life, including this.

This is not the part of my life that I can easily talk about, there is still a lot of shame and pain in sharing these stories that are at the root of feeling unworthy. They pose questions like:

‘What will others think of me?’

‘Will my story even matter?’

‘How petty will sharing this make me sound?’

‘Who would want to read something like this instead of something happy and uplifting?’

‘I just don’t have what it takes, who am I kidding?’

Many of these thoughts cross my mind - even here in this wonderfully kind community, where everyone is sharing their well chosen and, even better, written words with others. I struggle.

I struggle to find my place. A place where I can just be and not feel that I need to compete or be good enough for others to find my writing worth the read. Not because others make me feel that way…. but because the inner child in me still, at times, feels very unseen and unheard. By others, but in essence mostly by the grown up version of myself.

It makes me wonder… how other people’s minds work. How they carry their past experiences and own insecurities into these public places. Where, without intending it to be a place of competition, it feels better to get liked than not noticed at all.

Is it easier for some to turn on the ‘je m’en fous’ button in their hearts and just get on with it? Or are you like me and do you often wonder (all the time) if your writing is even read by others? Or how it comes across? Do tell me.

I’m sharing this because I do not want it to ruin my love of writing. I want this inner part of me to understand that it’s okay to feel the way it does, sometimes. I want it to know that other times it’s okay to believe in myself and to dare to feel good about my writing, about me and who I am.

Okay, enough of my wallowing in insecurity!

I think I just realized that the only way to do all that, is by letting my insecurity out into the open.

By allowing it to exist.

To give it space and let it speak.

To say it’s piece.

To share it with anyone who reads this and may sometimes hear a similar voice calling out in desperate need of being heard.

Let it out and let it be.