22 August, 2012

The Hollow

There's a certain feeling I get in the pit of my stomach occasionally. It took me years to identify it: anxiety. I thought I was someone who didn't ever get stressed or anxious. It's still pretty rare, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with. In fact, it makes it worse, because I have so little practice dealing with it.

I'm not normally very vulnerable to negative criticism; not that I don't deserve any, but rather that I just don't feel hurt by it... usually. Today someone said something to me that (quite by accident) nailed a particular chunk of self-doubt I've been harboring. I wouldn't be much of a writer if I never had any self-doubt, but because of what was said to me, I've spent the whole day trying to ignore that hollow feeling in my gut. Maybe she's right. Maybe I'm no good.

Am I a good writer? Only time will tell, and even then only if I persist long enough to get some feedback. Maybe a good night's sleep will make the feeling go away—it's worked before—but I'm always going to know that the self-doubt is lurking there. Maybe some day I'll be able to face it.

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