baby steps

Oh hi, I’m here. I’m just hiding away like I always do during my luteal phase. We talk a lot about the pros and cons of being big feelers. Heavy on the con list is the misery that is the week before your period.

Everyone hates me! There is no end to the suffering! Everyone who I love will eventually leave!!

anyway!

I’ve been really hard on myself lately. I’ve noticed. I’m mainly disappointed that I haven’t been writing more. Well - here’s the thing. I actually write a lot. But in the two months I’ve started sharing publicly again, the impostor syndrome has taken the drivers seat. I can’t press publish.

I have so many drafts of almost done posts. Really good insights and stories I’ve tied together beautifully. But I can’t seem to post anything. I can always convince myself it needs another run through. Maybe leaving it for a week and coming back with fresh eyes.

But as the drafts pile up, so does my shame.

What’s wrong with me?

What happened to me?

Why can’t I ever be who I say I’m going to be?

All of this is what just went through my head as I sat staring at my laptop screen, willing myself to say something. I have so much to say but I choke on the words. The self doubt eventually blocks me from saying anything at all.

And then I had the thought,

So just say that!

I guess the point of this post, is to be vulnerable and tell you that I’m feeling quite insecure when it comes to sharing myself online. Trusting myself. Wondering if what I have to say makes any sense. Or if it hasn’t already been said a million times by a million smarter women. I really get stuck on if anyone cares at all.

But what I feel right now in this moment, is that I do care. Deeply. Of course I do! The evidence is 20 substack drafts long. I’m doing this because it’s my life’s work, being a writer. In 10 years, I (hope) I will be off social media. But I promise you I won’t stop this. I won’t stop translating my thoughts. I was born to express this soul. I will make you see life through my eyes.

I'll write fiction, children’s books, horror stories, movie screenplays, poetry on the back of napkins, and you know what? Sure, I’ll ghost write for Drake’s comeback album in 20 years. I’ll write a play. Jokes for late night tv. Songs for pop stars. I’ll fill up 300 journals over the course of my life.

And someday, i’ll finally be able to write my own story.

Having a public substack is keeping me motivated and accountable. But as much as I love you, dear reader, I have to remind myself that this is for me.

I’m still in the trenches. I’m still grieving and mourning and falling apart. Of course all of this is hard. To sit down at the laptop and face the blank page, to face my own mind. It’s unbearable at times.

But it’s a baby step on this long walk back home.

Opening the laptop is a baby step. Spilling my heart into a draft is a baby step.

Publishing it and letting whoever needs to read it, find it — that’s a big girl step.

So i’m going to make a promise to myself, and to my sweet little crew of readers. I promise to show up. I’m not promising poetry every time. I’m not promising perfect grammar. But I’m gonna show up and tell stories. I’ll post the drafts, even if I swear it could use another edit. I’ll tell you the truth, as much as I’m allowed to. I’ll be honest with the fact that I have no idea what I’m really doing right now. No comeback in the works, no new brand, no Secret Lives of Mormon Wives cameo.

No “big things coming” for this girl at the moment.

This is it right now. I’m figuring it out as I go. And fuckkkkk, it’s really scary when I think about it. But I promise. I promise to let you witness this walk back home, and in doing so, I hope we both find that the company actually makes the journey pretty enjoyable.

Thanks for holding my hand.

I was getting lonely

Ind