As a psychotherapist and coach, I’m accustomed to helping others work through psychological blocks and emotional struggles. When it comes to my writing life, I struggle with my own share of worries, insecurities and inner conflicts. My running inner monologue while writing goes something like this:
Who are you kidding with that cliché? Stop it with the freaking psychobabble! Don’t you remember anything about subject verb agreement? Okay, you’re onto something now, but remember when you thought you had something before and when you looked at it the next day you wanted to puke it was so bad and you doubted your judgment because you really thought it held promise when it really truly stank?
It takes courage to write. The brutal inner critic, (I call mine Gerta, a cross between a shaming church lady and a crack whore) does a number on my creativity and flow. This beat, beat, beat of a pulsing need to write, comes into direct conflict with Gerta the church lady crack whore, making me feel wicked and jittery and audacious for even trying to write.
Sometimes I have to hold my precious little writing heart in compassionate hands, and let it safely beat away surrounded by love and Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookies. I comfort my exposed writing heart with these self-compassionate phrases:
- May you be peaceful.
- May you write with ease.
- May you trust your own voice.
- May you find joy in the work.
You see, my inner critic is a clever gal. She won’t believe it if I tell myself, “it’s really great! You’re really great! You’re so special! Oprah’s going to love this!” All those attempts to defibrillate my self-esteem just make my insecurity grow like a horror movie blob. I can’t trust all that grandiosity. But self-compassion isn’t about self-esteem, or telling myself taradiddles, or pretty lies. Self-compassion lets me recognize the pain in my struggle to write, and it lets me live in love (and cookies) till I can get something written.
But sometimes that self-compassion has to have some teeth to it, some fierceness, to break through all of the inner and outer obstacles blocking creative work. I’m reminded of the fierce compassion of Wonder Woman, as directed by Patty Jenkins in the recent story of Diana’s origin. Wonder Woman moves with fierce determination, unapologetic, unwavering, devoid of self-consciousness, focused only on her objective, to help humanity. Diana does not equivocate. She filters out, as irrelevant noise, the sexist judgements, stares, glares and clothing criticisms of her onlookers. What remains is her compassionate commitment to a cause greater than self. That focused fierceness, when I can channel it, allows me to prioritize my writing. I can get out of my ego and remember I’m writing this book to help people. So if my sentences aren’t beautiful enough to walk the red carpet of awards season, who cares? It’s irrelevant. What matters is getting those ideas in good enough shape to communicate something meaningful and helpful. Coddling my little precious writing heart with self-compassion, beats out self-esteem and the critic every time. Well most of the time. When I remember to do it.
Gina sings, plays guitar, ukulele and bass (not all at once), with her husband. She has a private psychotherapy practice, providing corporate training, executive coaching and career guidance services. She and her husband raised three kids who, sadly, decided to grow up and move out. Now she gets to babysit her grand dog Rocky, a rat terrier pup found abandoned in the trash, who fought off two coyotes, and whose life story would make a great memoir.
She’s blogged for Forbes, Women in Crime ink, and pens her own blog, Manage Anger Daily.
Quote: “Life is a near death experience.” George Carlin