Today is another day of anxious writing. So far, I've had quite a few days where I logged on with excitement, and finished a post with great satisfaction. But, on days like today, my insecurities get in the way.
I've already written about my fears related to composing a work of fiction. Somehow, I've found that speaking to my own personal struggles more directly is less difficult. Unless, of course, I just let it all out in a stream of consciousness and hit publish without a second thought. Those second thoughts find their way in eventually.
I've read a lot of different pieces on this site, and the talent in the community is staggering. It's humbling, and it provides an excellent opportunity for valuable feedback (which I'm eventually hoping to go looking for). It makes me worry about the days where I phone it in, or the days where my depression is particularly strong and I can't conjure up any thoughts that don't sound like they were written by an early aughts emo band.
The cycle of anxious thoughts is so dependable I honestly have to laugh. Was I just too honest? Too whiny? Did I express an opinion without adequately digging through facts to back it up? What will someone reading this take away about my shortcomings? The insecurities abound. But, whether they have merit or not, I'm still here. I'll keep telling myself that the only way to use this site improperly is to not write at all. I'll remind myself that constructive criticism is valuable, and any other kind of criticism isn't my baggage to bear.
That said, I really hope the habit I'm building here is more valuable than the embarrassment I'm certain to inflict upon myself.