There are things I hate. I talk myself out of doing things I enjoy because I tend to believe I’m not good at them, so why bother. Take, for instance, the Blog Talk Radio thing I used to do. I genuinely enjoyed it. I faithfully talked to myself for an hour every week. If there’s one things I’m great at in this life, it’s talking to myself. Why did I stop? I’m horrible at self-confidence. I simply don’t have any. I’m surprised when people compliment me in any fashion and I’m uncomfortable when someone feels the need to say something kind about something I’ve done. Believe me, I’m damn good at faking confidence, but the moment someone says something nice, I’m really just waiting for the other shoe to drop and for them to tell me I suck at life and should give up my addiction to oxygen.
I have sister-envy. My sister can do no wrong in my eyes. She’s the most stable person I know. Even her neurosis are mild in my eyes. While she may disagree, I find her confidence something that I seriously wish I had. I’ve never seen anyone so able to take life by it’s balls and make it do her bidding. She’s about to turn 30 has a great family, a fantastic career, and the personality befitting a real grown up.
In reality, my circumstances are quite similar. I have my own place (that I rent… it’s my personal shoebox!). I have a lovely car that I make a car payment on. My children are happy and healthy. I shouldn’t feel like an epic slacker. I work in a professional setting, I’ve published four books with the fifth to be out in January. So I’m fairly well accomplished, and yet… I stopped writing blogs because someone told me she looked forward to reading them each day.
Compliments freak me out and yet I crave them. Your literary Goddess is not very sane.