As a kid and as an adolescent, writing was my escape. I suffered from major social anxiety. I wasn’t one of the popular kids in school. I didn’t date. I was an average student because I was afraid that being too smart in school would alienate me further from the few friends I had. At home, I sequestered myself in my room, sought privacy in the apple tree, always writing, always imagining.
As time passed, I became more obsessed with writing. I took as many writing courses as I could, read all kinds of books, dreamed of being published. But I didn’t talk a lot about my writing, because I didn’t fully understand my relationship with it. Was it just a hobby? Was this a pipe dream? Was I even good enough? I didn’t know. Part of me was too insecure to discover what my writing self was made of. The other part of me couldn’t not write. Blend the two together and you get a half-assed writer.
I started believing I was a terrible writer, and I had no business trying to pursue my dream. But I couldn’t stop writing. Then, I felt guilty for writing. So, I told myself how awful I am at writing and that I should stop. But I couldn’t.
See the vicious cycle??
I am a writeaholic.
Like an alcoholic hides booze, I hid my writing and pretended I was someone else. I found a full-time job, took up new interests, turned my focus to other parts of my life, and soon the few people who knew of my pathetic dream stopped asking what I was writing. They thought I gave it up. But I didn’t. I was sneaking my stories.
Without getting into the nitty-gritty, suffice it to say I finally got smart. By hiding my writing, I realized I was self-sabotaging, making it easy for all the naysayers to cluck their tongues and chant ‘told ya so.’ Making it easy to keep that scared little kid scared. At first, I thought I had forever damaged my writing self. But after some major soul-searching I knew that I could continue to write and pursue my dream to be published. I just had to stop making it a problem.
I have made my peace with writing. I no longer hide it, and I now have a healthy, respectful relationship with it. But I must handle it carefully, because when I put too much stress on writing, if I have too much at stake with writing, I fall apart.
I am a writeaholic, and I have been writing healthfully for 10 years.
How about you? What’s your relationship with writing?
