I always knew once I’d published my memoir it’d sit on Amazon fading into obscurity unless I came out of my hobbit hole and was prepared to make myself more visible. You know, go back on social media, that thing I do for other companies. So what do I do? Get settled into building my website, that’s what.
It’s perfectly logical. Get a nice-looking website together and then there’s somewhere for people to go and find out more if they like my content.
Three months later, I find myself still plodding along. Sure, I’ve got limited time and resources, yet I never expected to get so caught up in it. Figuring out what I wanted to say on here led to my fears resurfacing. Does what I say have any value? What if people publicly ridicule me? What if I’m expending energy and time I don’t have much of anyway on something no one will ever read? What’s the point? Just tick ‘written a memoir’ off the goal list and move on.
I know. I know. I know that as soon as I challenge my comfort zone to expand for the sake of what I want, I’m going to prod the bear. Which, in this instance, is my inner critic, who wants to keep me safe but will happily keep me small to do so.
I’ve coached people on this, been coached on this, multiple times in fact. I’ve even had therapy and understand that I grew up in a ‘children should be seen and not heard’ environment and took on an early belief of ‘I don’t matter’. And if I don’t matter, why the fuck would I build a website, write blogs and be public about the fact I’ve written a memoir?
Don’t get me wrong, I do think knowing where those pervading fears and unconscious beliefs came from, and recognising them for what they are, is important.
But understanding and changing aren’t necessarily the same event.
This brings me back to the website. Websites, logos and other branded material can all be another way of feeling like something’s happening. I’m making progress. I even look like I have a business now.
When the tinkering eventually finishes, I’ve seen others, and myself, fall flat on our faces. The excitement fades. There are still no clients, no one getting in touch and no money coming in. All that effort for what, a pretty online persona? Time and again, I’ve been there when the realisation sinks in that the real work is just about to start.
I’ve got a little stack of business cards, different logos, different business names, endless amounts of paperwork and programmes I’ve created on the computer. I even scripted a weight-loss CD, then hired a studio to record it over several sessions. I created the nice glossy marketing material too, only to chuck the whole lot, and I do mean physically, as I had CDs, covers and flyers printed, in the bin.
It simply wasn’t good enough. Or, more accurately, I wasn’t good enough. And lurking underneath that: I don’t matter.
I went on to do more qualifications. When that didn’t work, I thought I needed a degree, because surely then I’d feel confident that I was good enough.
That didn’t work either.
Now I felt inferior to my peers too, who all seemed more capable, much smarter and able to grasp complexities, unlike me. I’d just dug a bigger hole for myself. Vowing never to do another qualification, I found myself in lockdown getting pulled in yet again, this time to do a master’s.
By the time I finished, I knew I could keep going, do a PhD and still feel the same. There wasn’t another qualification that would finally make me feel good enough, and my God, have I already worked on that limiting belief over the last 20 years. Which makes it all the more frustrating to come face to face with it again. The ‘I’m not good enough’, the ‘I don’t matter’, probably aren’t going to leave me any time soon. I’ve just got to see them for what they are: thoughts, not facts. If I can notice when my actions (including not doing) are being driven by my fears, I can choose whether to let the beliefs that kept me safe in childhood limit me now as an adult.
And yes, this is all easier said than done.
So, for me, this means going back onto social media as myself rather than under the label of personal trainer or nutritional therapist. Feeling the fear, talking myself down from the ledge of perceived future consequences and making myself visible anyway.
I don’t know what’ll happen if I do this. I do know what happens if I don’t.
Am I prepared to live with that regret?
And if no one reads this article, that’s OK too. I’m practising flexing that muscle of doing the thing I’ve been telling myself I’ll do.
Not just once, but again and again.
