A Monday For Facing Fears

Hello. It is Monday again. The sky is overcast and the grass is still damp with dew. I have been up for a bit but I am just now sitting down to write this. I have been stalling.

You see, if I sit down and write a blog post that means it is really Monday. This Monday. The Monday where I once again have to do something that I don’t really want to do because it scares me a little.

Now before any of you get ideas of doctor appointments or tightrope walking into your heads, it really isn’t that big of a deal to the rest of the world. Once I go and get things over with it won’t seem like a big deal to me either. It is the time before I actually step out of my door that is the worst.

I have to go out into the world and adult today. Yes adult can be used as a verb. If you don’t think so, just wait. One day you will do a thing and it will be something that is necessary but not really something you want to do. In fact you would probably like to avoid that thing all together. However, you will take a deep breath and do it anyway. That is adulting. (In some cases “adulting” can be not doing a thing you do really want to do.)

I have to put on my adult costume and go pretend to be something I’m not. I am an adult. I have bills, pets, kids, laundry and everything. It all gets paid, fed, or washed. But to the rest of the world I get the feeling that I am just not quite adult enough. I have to go confront the local school board over my son today. I may even be home schooling before the day is out.

(Summary of the issue is that they want my social anxiety afflicted son to move schools during his last year of primary because he is not zoned for the school he has attended since kindergarten. Makes sense except for the fact he has never been zoned for that school but it hasn’t been a problem until now.)

Sometimes I feel I have to over adult because once someone in power find out I am a single mom, for some reason my adult meter drops. I watch it happen. There is this little smirk that comes up in the corner of their mouths and their eyes say “Oh, that’s what we are dealing with.”

If they find out I am pursuing the dream of being a writer the meter drops even more. It is like I am a little kid dressed up in her mom’s shoes and no longer have to be taken seriously. I hate, hate, hate being humored or patronized. If you are going to look down on me at least do it in a way that gives me a chance to fight back.

I am not on welfare. I am paying my own mortgage. I work 72 hours in one week, then come home and do all the other stuff people have to do and be mom.  (Okay my incredibly wonderful mother helps me out with some of that.) Then I write because I am a writer. I can and I will pursue that dream. Just because I happen to not have a mate does not mean I have to give up on everything and go wallow in how hard life is.

I even have a freaking vegetable garden in the back yard! If anything I feel like they should be taking me more serious or at least trying help me out a little. But that is not the way it goes. Instead I am silently put into a stereotype box and anything I say from that point on will be viewed wearing shades colored by that box.

It is incredibly frustrating and I don’t like confrontation to begin with. Writing it all out here has helped. I don’t feel so uneasy now. I am going to go forth into battle before my courage fades. Wish me luck.

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A New Year Confession

confessionalI have a confession to make.  I didn’t write very much in December.  In fact, I had a great internal battle about whether I should give it up entirely.

Anyone who is a writer knows, you can’t just stop writing.  It is something that comes out if you want it to or not. (And more likely when plathyou don’t want it to, rather than when you do.)   I pondered for a while but I didn’t talk about it.  First, I was afraid my friend would think that I was looking for sympathy or pats on the head.  Second, I was afraid my friends might deliver swift hard smacks to the back of my head.  (Or even scarier, what if they agreed that I should give up my silly writing dreams?)

Eventually, the simple fact that I was afraid I would be told to give it up, finally sifted through my self doubt to make me realize I didn’t want to.  Because if I did, wouldn’t I be feeling relief rather than dread?

anime_dragon_1024x768-634320I am still wrestling with that dragon of self doubt. It keeps asking me questions that I don’t have the answers to.  Am I good enough? Does anyone want to even read what I write?  Why would someone chose one of my stories over all the many others out there?  What if I finally get my stuff where people can see it and they scoff and toss it aside before giving it a chance; because I over looked something simple, like a spelling or grammar error?   (That last one really scares me. I have friends that do that so I know it isn’t just paranoia.)

Writing is a very solitary thing.  You spend a lot of time in your own head.  This means you face the good and bad about yourself all the time.  You struggle with it.  When you can, you pen it down on a page. (Pun intended.)

I am not writing this to seek sympathy.  I am writing to…well, write it out.  Things look o'connormuch clearer on a page than they do all jumbled up in your head.  I am not giving up even though I still feel a bit downhearted at the moment.  I am told that many writers go through the “Am I good enough?” struggle.  Big names with many book contracts under their belts still doubt themselves sometimes.  It’s a hazard of the occupation.

The important thing, the thing I have to remind myself, is to just keep putting one word in front of another.  If I can do that then I’m bound to get somewhere eventually.dream time