THE BATTLE

I have a very powerful inner voice of self-doubt and an oppressive self-limiting mindset. Surprising, right? Even when I don’t think I hear it, The Voice yells and screams at me “who do you think you are to believe that anyone would be interested in reading anything you have to write? Huh? Answer me!?” See what I mean? That’s a nasty little voice.

I’ve always wanted to write—something funny, something seductive, or something about my life’s experiences. I’ve had people tell me “you should write!” or “you write so well”. But then I hear The Voice say, “who’d be interested?”

Humph!

My problem, other than self-negating, self-limiting thoughts is that I don’t feel I know anything. I’ve always heard that one should write about what one knows. But, what do I know? I don’t know what I know. (Yes, maybe my mind has taken a holiday).

I haven’t traveled much, so I can’t write about other cultures or exotic places. I hated history (I could never get the historical timeline to stay in my brain), so I can’t write historical novels.

To me, I have lived a somewhat boring life. Yes, I have. Despite what others tell me.

One friend told me I should write about my life’s experiences because I’ve had a few doozies (borrowing a word from my deceased grandma). Actually, I’ve had what are more aptly described as serious lapses in judgment throughout the years. I wouldn’t call those interesting at all. Embarrassing? Yes. Interesting? No.

So, what do I know? What have I experienced? Like everyone, I’ve known pain. Pain of loss, pain of rejection, and pain of humiliation.

I’ve also known great joy as well as extreme spiritual tranquility peppered with times of great spiritual doubt in the existence of God (hey, He made me…he knows I go through this).

I’ve also known extreme anger and serious rage…that “shadow self” that Carl Jung talked about (we all have The Shadow—some of us just never know how “dark” that shadow is). The rage I speak of is the kind where you fantasize about how good it might feel to choke the life out of someone who has made your life a living hell. Hum, maybe I should write about this? Write a nice fiction novel about murder and mayhem?

I’m not sure about all this. I’m sure that if I don’t release my inner creative lady (let’s call her “Prissy”) she’ll wither and die before ever living. I’m just not sure what to do with for her. I welcome any suggestions.

I’m trying to bring Prissy to the forefront of my life. How I’ll accomplish that I don’t yet know as I believe she is in a battle with the The Voice. Perhaps this battle will take on the nuances of so many fairy tales where the lady in distress is rescued by the guy on the white horse. No, I don’t see this happening either. Why? Because the only other character in this tale is The Shadow. And The Shadow is downright scary. The Shadow epitomizes all that’s within us that we may never wish to face.

Nevertheless, despite this battle going on, I will let you know who becomes The Victor.

My vote is on Prissy.