Confidence is the one person conversation I’m constantly having with myself. Until this past week. (If that makes any sense at all)
My therapist and I talked about confidence this week. ( I feel like I will be talking about her a lot, because she’s an incredible woman).
I have had a great deal of shitty things happen to me. Many of those things I swept to the dark corner of my mind to deal with another day. Well, it all came back at me the past year. Mental health is something I’m still uncomfortable talking about. I have worked tirelessly making sure I can address everything expect how I am truly feeling, thinking, going through internally. I’ve learned that from my parents.
Confidence was something everyone around me assumed I had. My personality is strong at times. I used to be extremely outgoing and social enough to not have anyone questioning things. High School was a hard time for me. No one seemed to notice. Even though I NEVER brushed my long ass hair. Isn’t that a sign of depression? I don’t know.
Why is it so hard to be twenty-two and confident. Why is it taking me so long to write anything. My dream is to write science fiction novels. I have the notes, the idea and story line of what I want to write even the second book. I can’t seem to put it all down in enough words to call it a book. That is what I’m working on.
The confidence in myself as a writer to fulfill my dream.
I’ve been reading a fair amount of books. I’m currently reading the collection of essays Bad Feminist by Roxanne Gay. Before that I read the first three books to the Red Rising series by Pierce Brown and The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt. It’s been a month of reading and writing like my old self used to. I’ve written powerful poems about recent events.
I’m actually focused on the series I wanted to share back in January. The confidence is coming back or in some ways finally arriving.
There’s something changing in me and I’m excited to see what’s in store.