Thoughts on Writing and Self-Doubt

I’ve been writing professionally for almost ten years now, but I can only count with one hand the times when I’ve written something that actually resonated with me or reflected who I was.

All these years I’ve tried to make my writing sound proper. That is, I made sure that my articles fit the parameters of the projects I was assigned to or the needs of my client. It was a detached kind of writing, more professional and commercial than creative or personal. It was what I needed to survive and pay the bills. And for a while, that was enough for me.

But things are changing. I’m changing. I’m beginning to feel that merely surviving is not good enough.

It’s been so long since I’ve written something that was actually for me. Something that was raw, honest, and personal. Before, it used to be like second nature to me. I did it to express and process my thoughts and emotions. It was my release, my sanctuary. It made me feel so excited, confident, and free. And at that time, I used to think I was good at it. Not the best, sure. But still, good enough to capture some attention.

Now, I think I’ve lost that spark and that confidence. Much of it anyway. All those years of trying to fit the mold and writing for other people, worrying about technicalities and keywords, about things I didn’t really care about have drained me.

Instead of confidence, I am filled with self-doubt. I question myself so much that I stop even before I start. I talk myself out of ideas and embrace distractions because I don’t want to give writing for myself a real try. I’m too scared to find out what might happen. What if I don’t have what it takes after all? What if I’m not actually good at writing? What if the only thing I thought I could do well was a fluke, a lie?

Besides, real writing requires pure honesty. Do I really want to be that honest? And what is it that I have to say that is different or more interesting than what others have said before? Who would actually read my work?

All these questions and doubts plague me. Worst of all, they cripple me. And I am here, still trapped in a miserable cage I’ve built for myself.

But perhaps by writing my doubts here and publishing them, I am one step closer to freeing myself from that cage. Perhaps this is me finally learning to bet on myself and allowing the writer in me to flourish. Perhaps…