Over the last few months, I’ve had several ideas for blog posts.
Good ideas, even.
So, you may ask, why haven’t I actually posted anything new since November? It’s simple — because I’m holding myself back by adhering to standards that are too high. Whether it’s feeling that my posts should have a certain depth or length, what continually hinders me is the fear that something isn’t “enough.”
And that’s ridiculous.
Sure, I used to be able to write a certain something in a certain amount of time, and with a certain amount of effort — but I was also in full health.
Realistically, my current function is probably less than 10% of a healthy 25-year-old’s — and that’s on a good day. Why in the world would I hold myself to the same standards as my 22-year-old self functioning at 100%? It just doesn’t make sense.
That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t write, or that I should feel bad about what or how much I’m writing. The important thing is that I write, because writing has always been part of me, in sickness or in health. It doesn’t have to be perfect — it never did. As so many have said before me, it doesn’t have to be perfect; it just has to be done.
If being mostly housebound has taught me anything, it’s the importance of hanging on to the bits of yourself that are still alive and well, the bits that make you feel like you.
And words make me feel like me.