The Inner Critic

"Almost every time somebody gives me a present,it ends up making me sad."  Catcher in the Rye

A kind gesture. A smile. Gentle words. A thoughtful present. It doesn't matter what it was, I have always experienced a enormous sense of sadness after someone is kind to me. My brain has always told me that I'm not worthy of such compassion.

Maybe not always. I remember (or I think I remember) my sixth grade teacher telling me that she loved my stories and that I should be a writer. What did I do? I abandoned fiction and wrote newspaper style stories until I graduated from high school. Then, except for papers, I stopped writing completely. I started again when I was 40.

Why? 

If I could answer that question, I would drastically be happier on a daily basis.

Instead, I battle with it through meditation and that seems to help quite a bit. Where I used to just spiral down until I was stuck in the muck, I can now catch myself before I'm too far gone.

This demon critic still gets in my way. Right now, I'm ready to start sending out my completed manuscript, but I feel apprehension. I'm now consumed by thoughts designed to stop me. Whenever I start to research agents or publishers, my brain tells me, "Come on, now. You know that no one wants to read your garbage. Just stop and go bake something. You make good cookies."

That apprehension is probably normal. It certainly is normal in my day-to-day experience. It's exhausting to have to fight constantly with my own brain. I don't understand people, like the current president, who never question themselves. Maybe that is an illness that is the polar opposite of mine.

I cried twice today

I do not like to cry in front of my students, but it happened twice today.

The first time was the fault of A.S. in my AP Literature and Composition. We've just finished a study of elements of fiction and are now transitioning into poetry. The class's first assignment was to read the introductory chapter on poetry. In class, they annotated the poem and several students volunteered to read the poem aloud and share their annotation. Well A.S. read John Updike's Dog's Death. I had purposely skipped over this selection in the chapter because I am a softie and I knew I would cry. Well he read it and I cried. I pulled together my composure to add more to the conversation we started last week about Frankenstein.

The second set of tears fell at the end of the day, just as Student Council members arrived to put the final touches on Homecoming. I opened my email and discovered that the October issue of RED OCHRE LiT has been published and there was my name. I clicked on my name and I just couldn't help myself. At that moment I had to let go of a lifetime of self-doubt and I had gotten so used to living with it. It has been my shield, my wall. I need to let that go now. The world is such a different place without my own fears holding me back.