Michelle Conaway

I have made a new commitment to writing.  I realize with such clarity that in order to be a successful writer, writing must become a top priority to me, to my family and to my friends.  I realized that I was withholding my dream from others because of fear of failure.  What if everyone knows I am writing everyday, hoping to be published and it doesn’t happen?  I had to be with that question for some time before realizing that I have to be willing to fail.  I have to be willing to suck as a writer, to be wasting two to three hours every day on it and have it never amount to anything.  I have to be publicly going for my dream, allowing myself to be vulnerable and willing to be rejected.

When I realized my biggest fear around writing was being rejected or judged silently by my friends and family, it felt as if a light had been turned on in a very dark room.  There it was, the rejection, the failure, the ridicule — hiding in the darkness of my mind.  But bringing it into the foreground, looking at it, acknowledging that it was there, brought it into the light of my consciousness.  No longer could it lurk in the dark like a childhood monster, scaring me.  It’s power was deflated  just by seeing it.

Now the fear can be there but it can’t hide from me any longer.  I can see that I projected this fear onto everyone I knew, just knowing they would judge my writing.  But it was me that was holding back out of fear.  It was me that was afraid of my own mind.  As soon as I revealed this, made a stand for the dream that I have to become a published author, my friends and family rallied around me.  I was the one holding the support at arms length.  I was the one making it impossible to write.  And excuses to not write exploded as disguises for the fear.

The fear of rejection and failure can no longer rule my actions or in-actions.  Are they still there?  Sure.  But they are illuminated by the light of consciousness and can just become a part of me that I understand and love.  They have tried to protect me but my resistance to them just made them stronger.  Now, I just ask them to pull up a chair as I write.  And usually my acceptance of them makes them all but disappear.

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