A doubtful woman staring back at me.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been highly driven. It’s been my nature since I was a girl. I was always doing something and because I was doing it, I had to do it right; be the best; win the race. But with that drive came crippling doubt. If I didn’t excel at something I fell flat. I found myself in a pit of my own doubtful despair until the next opportunity came along and I could leave that uncertainty by the way-side; strive onwards with my new direction.
And I’m only just now beginning to understand that life can’t work that way. How juvenile I have been.
We must actually FACE the lack-lustre, walk beside it, feel it’s blemished surface. We often must continue along the same path, waving shiny new ones adieu as we pass their glimmering intersection. I need to accept the fact that I doubt myself and that’s ok. I can still function with doubt beside me. I can still parent my children well. I can still write. I can still have opinions.
I need to work at freeing myself from the fear of doubt’s grip.
Just because it gets hard, doesn’t mean I’m doing it wrong or that I should quit. It just means it’s hard.