You are not safe, you are imprisoned.

Hi babycakes,

Here I am writing again.

It is Wednesday, and my chosen day to post is Wednesday. I am feeling itchy and weird that I had a week to start on something, but instead, I ignored the thing I want to do.

It feels like I have oil on the inside of my body and it’s moving around. Not in the sense that my body is filled with it. More in a way that if my body were hollow, it would be lining the inside of my body.

Very unpleasant.

I’ve been trying to think of what it is that I am feeling. I wouldn’t say I am terrified, even though that would justify my lack of showing up for myself.

It’s a subtle resistance against myself.

A weird pull inside of me with a blatant and shameless preference for watching reels and sending them to friends and/or my boyfriend. As if writing is a threat somehow. Lingering in the bushes, watching my every move.

Self-Doubt Isn't Logical

Really? Is that how overprotective my Neanderthal brain is? Thinking it is still on dry land in hunter-gatherer times, where there was always something about to cost me my life? Like a big wild animal that is about to attack my village? Seriously?

It’s not logical. That’s what irks me.

I go to therapy once a week, and the more I go there, the more I am confronted with how insecurities, self-doubt, and holding yourself back are not based on logic at all. It’s not reasonable. It literally makes no sense.

It’s like staying in a shitty relationship knowing damn well it’s a shitty relationship. Or, in my case, feeling insecure about myself when I see women "having" something I don’t have. It’s not just one specific type of woman, either. It’s all women. And on different days, it’s different things I feel insecure about.

How does that make any sense?

The joke of Understanding your feelings

It’s difficult because the only way to understand it is to let it fucking go.

Let it fucking go.

Genuinely.

Stop sinking your teeth into it and shaking your head like a rabid dog until the head pops off.

Stuffing strewn across the floor. Sitting there with the same problems, only now there is also a big mess around you.

There is no understanding it. The party pooper keeping us from expressing ourselves is the part of us that wants to survive and be seen. The part that wants safety, control, understanding, to make sense of things, and to "do it right." It does not always work like that.

Especially not when other people are triggering insecurities or when you're starting a new creative project.

Comparing Yourself to Other creatures Isn’t Fair

Starting with the example of feeling insecure because other women might be prettier, sexier, healthier, and/or more successful than me.

There will always be other women who do not look or live like me. They’re not supposed to either.

Flowers, trees, fish, clouds, gems, snowflakes, even drops of water or fingertips are not supposed to look or behave the same. How dull and lifeless would that be? Things would not work in the same harmony that they do now.

There would be no connection, inspiration or evolution.

Me being my own being is not a threat to my livelihood. It is not a threat to my survival. It does not mean people will leave me, be mad at or disappointed in me. However, something inside of me does think so. Something believes I always need to do better, be even more alert of my own "shortcomings," and fix them. Even though fixing them is always defined by different criteria.

The Tricky Thing About a Belief

Because this sad little part of my soul has been thinking and fearing not being good enough for so long, I don’t always catch it.

It’s not a conscious thought. It’s a belief at this point. A conviction. Almost a truth.

Like the sky is blue and the sun is hot. Sure, we see that daily, or briefly register it, but since it’s always there, it takes awareness to really take it in. To acknowledge it. Experience it. Maybe form an opinion on it or ask a question about it. And the same goes for writing.

I really need to snap my fingers at myself to snap out of the imprisonment.

Keeping Ourselves in a Straight Jacket

Yes, imprisonment is quite a dramatic term to use.

But I see it that way. In an attempt to "protect" myself, I keep myself locked up. Strapped into a chair and only watching other people’s content. Or simply going about my day without creating any of my own. It’s a cage.

A lonely, empty, depressing cage where nothing changes, nothing happens, and the pictures on the wall are the same. Little me at four years old. Hurt and scared.

That is who the cage is for. For her.

She was hurt and now she does not want anything to do with the outside world. She thinks it is not made for her and will not welcome her or be kind to her. It feels like it is not safe for her to play or even exist there. The world will be mean, angry, cynical, depressed, yelling, and leaving.

THEN OF COURSE WE WANT TO IMPRISON OURSELVES.

What a fucking description. What a fucking premise to go on. Can you imagine if, before we entered the realm of Earth, someone gave us a quick debrief that went exactly like that?

A tall apparition in a long cloak with a clipboard and a cheerful voice, completely oblivious to how depressing the information is.

Giving us the play-by-play of a world where we can only expect rejection.

We would have someone pull a lever so the floor beneath us flaps open and we drop down into darkness. Any creature would flee.

It makes sense.

a little bit is enough

Now, looking at the fear of sucking when starting new creative projects.

With anything you just start doing, you will not be flawless and it will not always be effortless. Sure, you could enter a flow state where it all magically unfolds and nothing is in its way. But it does not have to be a grand, fantastical production.

Let it be a little rosebud. More green than red. Tiny thorns. There is no other way. It needs to be small first. It can only be messy first. It is just an intention first.

a ball of energy that wants to be made manifest.

It cannot be the full-blown end result already.

Again, how boring would that be? There would be no magic. No wondrous, funky, awkward, uncomfortable, cool process.

a block of finished potential dropping from the sky.

We might as well have had cotton for brains. Then why even have creativity? Why even have experiences? Why even have feelings? Why even exist?

It Needs To be real to matter

People like Doechii or Kanye West would not inspire us as much if they had not done everything in their power to be where they are now.

The fact that they are "big" only means something because they were "small" once.

They wrung out the whole process of becoming something. Doing something with what was inside of them. Giving it absolutely everything they had. They are living examples that you cannot do it without struggle, without rejection, without being misunderstood, without not knowing what will happen.

And what they make only resonates because it is real.

It means something. It stands for something. It is not just a simple melody, a quick rhyme, or the next pop hit being replayed over and over on the radio. It is unique. Unexpected. Sometimes weird. Sometimes shocking. THAT is why it is relevant.

We recognize life in them and their art.

thanking and parting with the Cage

I am very glad I did write today.

It reminded me that it’s not even about the writing. It’s about me letting myself enjoy the things I care about. Peacefully pondering my perspective on them. Perhaps reaching someone else in a positive way.

I hope everybody unlocks their cage every now and then. Until the cage is no longer needed. Because yes, there will be rejection (depending on what you define as rejection), but there will also be celebration.

Remember that you are not in the same place you were when you were four, ten, sixteen, twenty-two. You are different now.

You don’t have to keep yourself small for survival anymore.

It’s okay. Let yourself exist in plain sight.

Give yourself love and compassion for how hard it was.

Thank the cage for its loving protection. But also start to let it go.