Category — health

Fear.

What do you picture and feel when you see that word? Scenes from horror films? That creepy spot in your basement where the light never quite reaches? That cold feeling in the pit of your belly when you’re almost asleep, and awaken to hear something – or someone – moving in your kitchen?

I’m discovering that fear is very powerful and that there are many types. I have the usual complement of fears – growing old alone, not being loved, centipedes, poorly lit staircases, and car crashes – but I’ve discovered there are far more insidious fears, fears that paralyze you inside and stop you from doing the things you long to do.

I’ve wanted to write a book since I was a kid – a dream that was not much encouraged by anyone around me – and now that I’ve got the chance to do it, I am terrified of doing it wrong and being a disappointment. I fear failure.

I shouldn’t fear it – I’m no stranger to failure: math class, grade nine science, various romantic relationships, being a barista, PHP classes at UBC, baking cookies….the list goes on. I’ve failed at many things and managed to keep going. Those failures taught me some of my limitations as a person – and it took a long time to learn that it was OK to suck at something. No one is good at everything right?

Yet, the first draft of this book is going painfully slowly because I have been so determined that every page I write be polished. I have been determined to prove that the faith people seem to have in my abilities as a writer are warranted because I’ve done it right the first time. I’ve been making myself mental with this stupid view of things. I’ve been so obsessed with perfection and word count that I haven’t been having as much fun as I suspect I ought to be having. And, the bits that weren’t fun to write are the bits I do the most correction on because they are the least fun to read.

Coincidence? I think not.

I know logically that screwing up is part of learning, and that even if I were an absolute genius, I’d still need to revise and edit a first draft (and probably the next several drafts too). I know this, and yet there are days when I feel like I’m getting into a tank full of venomous spiders and snakes – one false move and I’m done for. I have sometimes been so paralyzed by the idea of throwing caution to the wind that  it’s a wonder I got any work done at all.

To combat that inner perfectionist, I’ve taken some excellent advice from my writing group and am just writing. No editing (no matter how badly the idea of leaving half-arsed prose uncorrected bothers me) – no going back over yesterday’s work, no fixing, tinkering, correcting, or improving of any kind. The first day of this – just before I got the horrible cold that put me out of commission for well over a week – I wrote 2000 words in a sitting and just typed until I was ready to stop. 2000 words of unedited, uncorrected writing in all its awfulness.

I took incredible pains with my first scene of the book. I re-wrote it so many times it was ridiculous, I fixed every niggling little error just like I thought I should – especially as I knew it would be going to a group of peers for criticism! I was sure that “just writing” would turn out badly and that Joe would come home to find me hyperventilating into a paper bag while correcting typos. But, strangely enough, I was actually happier writing the 2000 unedited words where I just bashed at the keyboard until I felt tired. I tried it again the last two days too – and I only felt stressed when I tried to write it right the first time. Otherwise I just kept going according to the outline – more or less anyway – and was happy as a clam.

Does it need work?

Oh, hell yes. From the quick glance I gave it, I can see spelling errors galore, grammar issues, a startling lack of proper detail and it reads  – to me anyway – like badly done fanfic of my own writing, but I was happy. I felt very satisfied and thought, “I can fix all the crappy bits later – no big deal.” My inner perfectionist just about had kittens at that thought, but I didn’t go back. I still haven’t read the stuff I wrote either. It’ll still be there later, holding the outline of my ideas until I can clean them up and present them properly.

How do you conquer those deep-rooted paralyzing fears? How do you keep moving forward in the face of self-imposed criticism and perfectionism? I’d love to hear I’m not the only one being a teeny bit neurotic!

Outside the world is waking up.

Flowers are in bloom, the leaves on the trees are unfurling after their long winter sleep, and the birds are up early chirping happy little tunes.

I am not blooming or chirping. I am cuddled up to a box of tissues and a box of Life brand cold and sinus medication. The crinkle of  the foil on the back of those cold medication blister packs is all the music I want to hear.

I know I have to get up. I know I have to get up, shower, dress and be part of the productive work-a-day world. There is a novel to write, blog posts to keep up (ha!), travel to book, and I need to think of what I might make for dinner. I get up and discover that I can feel each individual carpet fibre against the bottom of my feet. The windows are all closed but it’s freezing in here. I feel like I’m my own personal winter and my skin has got thinner, the sort of thinness you’d normally only find in over-ripe plums. My brain is convinced that my pajamas are made of chain mail and twigs instead of cotton. My sinuses are angry. My taste buds are dead. My hair hurts.

So I have spent the day drawing the picture below while watching Black Books and drinking tea.

I was just reading a blog post, The real life drama of the tween, by my cousin Carri on her website Solas. Her blog post is in response to a Facebook posting by one of her friends that read as follows:

“What the hell am I supposed to do about my skinny 10 year old begging me to let her go on a diet? I have told her again and again that she’s not fat that she is skinny but she’s not believing me. Any suggestions?”

Is this really the state of things now? Ten year old girls who feel so crappy about their bodies that they beg to go on diets?

But, then I think back to being ten, about the little clique of mean girls in my class who made fun of my clothes, my hair, my lack of fashion and verve and chic. These little girls had the super cool jelly shoes, their cute pink runners were covered in friendship pins, their arms were festooned with the jelly bracelets that were so popular. Me? Not so much. Even my sturdy and serviceable school supplies were fodder for these girls! They had Tweety Bird Trapper-Keepers and pencil cases covered in the coolest cartoon characters. I had normal pencils and plain plastic binders.

I remember feeling so angry that my mother refused to spend the extra cash on the cooler stuff – I didn’t care if it broke or lasted or not, I just wanted to be like everyone else.

I wanted to be prettier, more fashionable, I wanted boys to think I was pretty and smart (but not too smart, not smarter than him anyway).  I was always skinny as a kid, and later that became an issue too. All my friends started getting boobs and I remained flat-chested. They started to have curves, and I had the shape of a ruler. Even being skinny didn’t make me happy.

Maybe it isn’t so far-fetched after all that ten year old girls feel pressured to look a certain way – we pressure each other into unrealistic behaviour and expectations all the time.

I’ve sometimes wished I could travel back in time and tell my ten year old self (and some of my older selves too) a few things:

1. The people making fun of you are not happy with themselves either. They are making fun of you so you won’t have the chance to make fun of them first.
2. Being smart is awesome (I think it’s cooler now to be smart anyway, but I could be wrong).
3. While others spend their lives chasing trends and purchasing the latest gadgets to look cool, you will actually be cool by not wasting your time and money.  This stuff becomes obsolete and passé faster than you can pay it off, so if you don’t actually need it, re-think buying it.
4. If you have a passion for something, pursue it – and don’t let anyone, not even your parents, discourage you.
5. Being a jerk to other people will not make you feel better about yourself. The little high you get from spreading your misery doesn’t last.
6. Don’t bother with magazines that tell you how to look or act to please someone else. Read a science magazine or a good book instead.
7. Starving yourself will make you tired, mean and unhappy. Don’t do it.
8. You only get the one set of eyes, so if you need glasses, wear them. You don’t look dorky.
9. Wear whatever you feel happiest in and remember, all those other girls in the skinny jeans and tight tops are horribly uncomfortable and self-conscious.
10. It’s OK to listen to music you actually like and to listen to lots of different kinds of music. It’s good to have broader tastes than the just the top 40.
11. The people you see on TV and in magazines don’t look like that in real life. They look perfect because they have a team of make-up artists, professional photographers, special lighting and an army of Photoshop experts working on them. It’s not real and it’s not worth striving for.
12. It’s OK to stop being friends with people who are never there for you, or have no interest in your life or you as a person. Be polite, but save your friendship for people who really care about you, and for whom you really care in return.

I would also tell my younger self that once you get to university, things begin to change for the better. The little cliques and self-important assholes you went to school with either move away (hurrah!) or go to the same school, but are suddenly a lot less important.

In university, you’re still going to meet a lot of jackasses, but their hoity-toity, holier-than-thou crap will be largely academic snobbery – and that is always amusing to laugh at. Later, in the work force, you’ll meet more people who never really left elementary school or high school in terms of how they think. They will still be bullies, still never listen to anyone but themselves and their little crowd of butt-kissers and they will still be miserable.

You won’t be able to change any of them, but you can choose to not become one of them.

So, ten year old (and current) self, be happy. Don’t worry about trying to please people you don’t actually like – you will never win that battle. Wear what you want, follow your passions, eat cheese fries sometimes and let the mean people of this world just pass you by.