Practicing

 

          I was scared. Scared of what I would write. How I would write. I questioned myself, “Would it work? Would it be any good?” . The self-conscious took stance and I followed. Back and forth for a time we wrestled. “Just give up!”, growled the trash talking voice of this villian I knew too well: pessimistic me. “Stop! It will never work! Walk away!” my adversary screamed in the vicious wrestling match of me versus me; each word was a move to overthrow healthy and productive. My dignity thrown to failure’s floor, then my self-worth. Back and forth in violent actions we warred against each other, two sides of me; the better half had to win.

       Then it all changed. The battle shifted as desperation became perseverance and a way was made. Fear became the way, and this became my victory. So, I used it: fear. I used it to overcome. I used it to empower, and empower me it did! The powerless became the powerful as each weakness was acknowledged and then tossed aside instead of focused on. Hopelessness left me while a new fight entered and everything continued rearranging in this tide of transition. Rearranging as the thought echoed in my thoughts and emotions, “Just write. Just use it.”, so I did. Every fear turned to content and in each word written courage and confidence grew.

        The victory was not without it’s resistance as faithless unbelief threw me to the floor of “not enough”. “It’s not good!”, roared the taunts of the opponent. “It’s good enough!”, were the defiant responses of my hungry soul for healthy and constructive. The venom was injected, but I was immune and the wins were more frequent with every passing moment of the battle at hand.

       Taken down time and time again, fear was no longer my master as words grew to sentences then paragraphs, as weakness became the way and I was better for the fight I refused to lose in. It wasn’t perfect and that was alright, it wasn’t supposed to be; it would however lead to better, something from nothing. This is where I’d begin: fear of failure that led me on.

       I was practicing. I was perfecting. I was striving to write better, to learn structure, dialogue(internal dialogue), to listen to my “writer’s voice” inside. It was tense, it was messy, yet it was progress and I’d take it (even if it came through fear). Fear still remained, yet confidence also arose in me. Seeing capable encouraged me, and this pile of ashes became flames that raged to an inferno. The fires of hope were now a wildfire as the fear was consumed. Fight and fury kept building as I kept “fighting” until I won the fierce struggle. Giving up was no longer an option (and wouldn’t have been chosen if it even was). Witnessing results (of writing) gave much needed healing. Nothing at this point was perfect. Nothing IS perfect in any of these words. I’m merely practicing, and we all know what they say about practicing.

Sidenote: If any of the writing on this blog has made a good impact on your life in someway (EVEN if it was something you may have enjoyed reading for a particular reason), please feel free to share this blog with someone else who could be blessed also. Thank you for your support!