From reading my blog, you might get the idea that I am a pretty self-confident person. Most of the time, however, I am not. I doubt myself constantly, wish I was better and strive for improvement in many areas in which I feel I am lacking. Severe insecurity plagues me, to the point where I wonder if people actually even like me and I end up obsessing over how others see me. It's not something I am proud of, and I have always wished that I could be one of those people that went about their days, oblivious to whether people like them or not and secure in their knowledge that they are the best person they can be.
Even when it comes to things that I know about myself, that I am sure of, I still have days where I wander around with thoughts that I am just not good enough. That I am a fraud, an imposter of sorts, one that would be found out at any moment and have their whole world come crashing down. I'm not really intelligent, not the way I want to be. I suck as a mother, lacking patience and creativity. I can't actually write, not in a way that surpasses mediocrity and stands out among other writers. And that is what brings me to this post today. I am severely doubting my ability to have a career in writing and it is totally fucking with my mojo.
As some of you may know, I was accepted into a training program for a writing job in which I am competing for one solitary position as a regular writer for About.com. The position entails having my very own page on About.com on "Baby's First Year," as well as a blog pertaining to the same topic. I am competing with who knows how many other writers for this opportunity, and I want it. No, I don't just want it. I NEED it. I need it to finally give me a flicker of hope that this can happen. That maybe, just maybe, I can make it in this highly competitive field of writing and do something I love while also helping to support my family. And I need it to finally be able to give my family the financial freedom we have always wanted, because they deserve it. Nothing would make me feel better than knowing that I am actually supporting my family and doing something to make them proud. I have been freelance writing for a couple of years now, and an editor for about seven, but the market is competitive and the pay is terrible, and sometimes I feel like I am walking against the wind, making small steps forward, only to be blown back again. In order to keep walking and not give up, exhausted and spent, I need to know that I am working so hard for so little for a reason. That it is a means to an end. The end being a real career, allowing me to thrive instead of just survive.
I sent in my first training piece two days ago. I wrote it, and re-wrote it, hated it, re-wrote it, and then let it sit on my laptop for about three hours while I went back and stared at it for minutes at a time, trying to decide if it was good enough to send. Images of the editor reading it and shaking his head, wondering why he chose me in the first place filled my head and my stomach churned with nerves and anxiety. The fear of letting him down, of proving myself unworthy scared the shit out of me, made me insecure, made my eyes swim with tears of frustration. I knew I just had to send it and leave it in the hands of the universe, but the thought that there was more I could do to make it better, to prove to the editor that I was the perfect one for the job, left me weary of letting it go.
Attach. Send. Done. Soon it would arrive in his inbox and that was that. It was out of my hands.
Now I just had to write five more pieces and go through the whole process all over again.
Lord help me.