Just A Step
I think I am scared to write. I am not sure what it is. I can write constructively and make lists, but it doesn’t match my internal yearning.
I feel fuzzy. I feel a swell of low mood. A low swell, shallow in my stomach.
On occasion when I try and write my mind goes this familiar fuzzy A sort of tiredness. I daydream. I look out to the sea, with an empty mind. But it feels like a false emptiness. One created by a masking
I don’t understand why I am scared. I know I don’t fully understand. I can make logical and rational guesses, I know myself well in some respects. But I feel like this might be a part of myself I can’t access with my current approaches. Part of me wonders if I need an approach, a process, tools, analysis, at all. Or I just need to do. But every time I do, I stop, I struggle.
Something feels wrong, feels forced
Could I be forcing myself to write? Is the resistance, simply that I don’t want it as much as I think I do? No. It’s something deeper. A want is something light, it’s not burdened. MY other wants are lighter. It’s something that should lead to joy, fun. This does not feel like that. It feels like work. Is my writing, my work? I know it’s linked to my desire to grow as a person.
There is something about writing that I know will help me. Does help me. I always feel better after I have journalled. Maybe my expectation on publishing that to be read is wrong. Maybe I need to only write if it has something to do with a project or my career. Maybe I need to blog anonymously. Completely unknown. A first step. Unseen.