The world of writing is where my mind lives even when I am away from home. In a grocery store, when my companion wonders why I have a faraway look in my eyes or why am being so quiet, the answer is simple: I am writing. And in many cases, what that specifically means is, I am blogging.
My blog has become such an intrinsic part of my life, I have trouble imagining being without it. But not all my experiences have been pleasant. Readership-wise, my blog has had many ups and downs, like the time I was thrown off Reddit and my blog views plummeted. But I always kept writing. I loved coming up with something new to say each week.
When last week I was told I had lost my blog, all of my blog, due to a failed monthly payment, I had a feeling I had been down that path before, building my blog up, losing it, and then starting from scratch. Looks like it is time to begin again. Again.
As it turned out, I was able to get my entire blog back, but when I thought I had lost it and my followers, an interesting thought process began. What had I really lost? It felt like I had lost part of myself, but had I?
I am not my blog and my blog is not my writing. If my blog went away, I could still write, although my mind would not be able to go to Blog World anymore when I am grocery shopping; most likely my only retreat would be the fictional worlds of my novels, which sometimes take a backseat to my blog.
But I would really miss blogging if I stopped. Though my blog has made no money, I have enjoyed other kinds of rewards; knowing others would be reading what I wrote has driven me to become a better writer, and I have enjoyed all the writing I have done. Besides, I believe that posting my stories on Twitter led to my book publisher inviting me to submit my novel manuscript, which led to my book deal.
But I keep going back to the question: What if I really had lost my blog for good, and how much have I come to identify myself with it? I have always been fascinated about what lies at the core of people, including myself, when the things that they use to prop up their egos goes away, because I think that is where the truth of a person lies. How strong is my sense of self?
Ever since I have been writing my blog, I have struggled to vanquish the part of me that craves approval because I know it is my greatest weakness. I often wonder where it comes from, and why it is so hard to expunge from my emotional programming. Maybe it was spawned in the sixth grade, the year I was bullied relentlessly and validation was scarce.
In high school I rebuilt my shattered self-esteem by studying hard and making good grades. Making an A in every class was validation I could control. No matter how challenging a subject was, I knew that if I read my assignments and learned the material I would get accolades from teachers. To me an A on a biology exam meant “You are worthy.”
However, I was still seeking outside sources of approval when I really needed to seek it within myself.
Now that I am a writer, I have no choice but to look inside myself for confidence if I want to continue writing at all. As in high school, working hard to get the results I want is effective, but unlike in high school, hard work does not guarantee praise for my writing, no matter how great my efforts are. In fact, some readers are inevitably going to dislike my writing.
What keeps me writing is that I love to write. I love how the process feels. I love the planning. I love the rough draft stage. I love solving creative puzzles. And I love being able to write something just because writing it makes me happy. That was the epiphany that saved me from block, when I could write a sentence and simply say “I like this.”
Looking outside myself for approval and validation fragments me. Though I dislike criticism, I am more afraid of praise because it hooks me into wanting to please, which is something I struggle against constantly. I wrote a poem expressing my conflict:
Heaps of praise I hope to get
When I do not “get,” I get upset
A breach of self, do I detect?
It is risky to expect
To want what I cannot control
Endangers what I call my soul
To give is what I do myself
It puts my self-doubts on the shelf
If I gave, and only gave
I would not have to be afraid
Seeking approval is to expect, to pin my hopes for happiness on what happens to me, not on what I do. The act of writing is more like giving. It is acting, not waiting, not hoping, not expecting. As long as I focus on the writing itself and not how others react to my writing, even if my blog ever does go away, I will not be devastated.
My love for writing is the only wellspring of confidence that matters. When all around it praise and criticism swirl, what really matters is my ability to look at a sentence I have written and to simply say, I like this.
If you enjoyed this post you might like my other writing. Take a moment and sign up for my free starter library. Click here. Also my new novel \”The Ghosts of Chimera\” will soon be published by the folks over at Rooster and Pig Publishing.