I’m Afraid

Part of me is really glad this won’t reach much of an audience. It doesn’t exactly follow a theme or my branding or anything else I am supposed to be doing. I just need to write and get this out of my system and I have no place to put it.

This goes against most everything I read or watch, but at the same time, feels so necessary. It’s still a big risk, even without a big audience. This is sheer vulnerability. I’m absolutely terrified. My book I am about to publish has been years in the making. Along the way, there has been a lot of self discovery. I have learned so much about who I am and how I function and so much of that has gone into this book.

The past few months has seen some great strides in getting this to the publishing phase. I am getting so very close. Yet, I keep finding myself standing in the way. I need to pay an editor. Last night I spent too much money at a party. Zero funds for editing. Oops. Good job, Jessica. That is the easy fix, too. Just work more overtime at work. Sure, a little less time to work on it, but I still make time everyday, right?

Lately, I keep wanting to add more to the book. It’s never done it seems. I keep learning and wanting to update my book. I’m certain I’ve put something incorrect in there. I’m sure it’s no good. I was lucky enough to come up with a fantastic title and superb cover and I am in love with them, but what if the content doesn’t measure up? These are huge hurdles I face. I’m sure I’m not the only one, either.

The self doubt and fear are paralyzing. It is what has kept this book in the “someday” phase. I managed past that and began actual work, and now it’s in the “soon” phase. Every deadline I give myself somehow passes by. There is always progress- I have a cover now!, but no real result. And it’s my fault. I know it is. I see it. I can feel myself holding me back. Doesn’t change much about it, though.

I’m getting closer. There are fewer and fewer steps between me finally publishing this book. The closer I get, the more anxiety I feel. I’m running out of excuses and having to face my actual problem: myself. My fear. My doubt. These are mine. And apparently I’m holding onto them for dear life. But I don’t want them anymore. Now they are just fear and doubt. They are no longer my fear and my doubt.

I know I will be happier for it, but why is it still so hard to let go? Part of me wonders if I have just had them so long, I can’t bear to get rid of them. Like that dress that 10 years ago was my favorite. I don’t wear it anymore, but I sure have some good memories attached to it. Time to purge the closet and get rid of the things I don’t want, don’t use and just get in my way. Maybe there is something to this minimalist lifestyle I see everywhere. I don’t need to tote around this baggage anymore.

I think it’s time to go do some cleaning.