The original post by Natalie the Singingfool can be found at How I Talk Myself into Good Things
For the last few weeks, I’ve been struggling with a decision. I’m a wrestler, in that I spend a lot of time in my head arguing with myself. Wrestling.
I feel like this really captures what the inside of my brain looks like lately.
I had planned to go to a blogging conference pretty much since the day I started this blog. I have always known I wanted to be a writer, and this blog was the vehicle by which I would finally make that happen. There was no question about me not succeeding – I had to be a writer, because my “safe” career choice already didn’t pan out. That’s right, I worked on the “safe” choice first to avoid the pain and rejection involved in selecting a career in the arts. In a terrible twist of irony, being responsible did not pay off. The artist inside of me gets some secret pleasure from knowing that fact.
Going to this conference would be an educational trip for my career. If I walked away from it knowing that blogging was not the Yellow Brick Road to publishing my work, the lesson would still be worth learning. Even the husband supports my decision to go! I have the green light! I should be packing my bags! Well, in three months anyway.
However, for the past few weeks, I have been questioning that decision. Money is tight, we’re trying to do all kinds of investy-real-estatey-grown-up stuff, and everything I want from life is being put on the back burner. Sure, I don’t like it, but the past few days I’ve started noticing something about myself…
…I always put other people before myself. Not in a good way.
If I want something, that is secondary to your desires. If I have a need not being met, that is secondary to your needs. More often than not, my wants and needs go by the wayside. Sometimes I don’t even voice them, so I don’t have to suffer disappointment or feel guilty for being selfish.
I question myself, my skills, my likability, which I’ve not made a secret on here. So I’ve put off buying my ticket to the conference, thinking, “that money could go to so many other things. It’s selfish of me to spend such a large chunk of cash on myself. What if I don’t succeed at this? Then it would be a waste. Then the world would self destruct and the apocalypse would be ALL MY FAULT.” I would be a failure out a couple hundred bucks, instead of just a failure.
So yeah, I’m that person. Ugh. No one wants to be friends with a self-flagellating martyr, not even me.
So yesterday, like a grand piano landing on my head, all of these realizations smacked me down flat with nothing left but clarity:
Why didn’t I deserve this? I work hard. Like, really hard. I don’t have the highest stats. I am not the funniest person. I am not the most inspiring person. But I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I am a great writer. Ouch, that was hard to say.
More importantly though, I need to rescue myself.
I know how cheesy that sounds, I know, but if you’ve ever wasted years of your life at a meaningless job for which you are ill-suited, then you understand. I know I was created for something different from what I am doing. I’m tired of wasting my time.
So I’m going to go. I owe it to myself. I deserve good things from life. What a concept, to let yourself be deserving of the life you want to lead. No, we don’t always get what we deserve, no one knows that better than I do. But this time if I don’t succeed, it will be my own fault. I can’t live with that. I can’t live without having at least tried.
Even if it means I don’t get to bitch about it later. Goodness knows how much I like to bitch about things.
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