How fear kept my creativity in the dark

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Creation has always been synonymous with vulnerability for me. Photography, painting, writing, are all things that bring me joy, but more importantly, they bring me alive. I have always struggled to share my writing with anyone, even myself at times. The process to bring it to light has been a slow and steady one, fraught with many steps back or running away from it altogether. The fear of overexposure would always triumph over my need to do this thing.

So, there was all my writing, years’ worth just collecting dust in the cupboard of my anxieties. Anytime I’d feel brave enough to open it, the particles of embarrassment would swirl around me, choking me out, until I slammed the cupboard shut again. The fear was still there, and it was still a monster, forever rearing its head in defiance of my love for creating. However, I fixed my gaze on that monster, determined to overcome it and stir up some courage to share.

The act of sharing is far heavier and deeper than we make it out to be. We’re taught that, “sharing is caring,” and that’s easy enough when you’re a toddler in daycare letting everyone play with your new toy. What happens when that new toy is a script, or article, or poem? Now it doesn’t feel so kind, instead it feels scary. Vulnerability bursting through the seams once more, when you feel that pang in your stomach as you unfurl your latest piece.

The dichotomy of this — praising generosity, but instilling doubt within sensitivity only serves to make the whole practice even harder. I want to share myself, but how far can I go? I have a problem overextending myself in order to accommodate others, and when that kicks in it can be a slippery slope into mental gymnastics and exhaustion for me. If that sort of thinking leaks into my creative process, how do I reconcile it with wanting to join others, wanting them to join me, and being a part of a community? So many questions and I won’t pretend to have the answers, though it seems to me that this fear is just a mask for something else.

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Obviously, making anything personal will come with its own complicated emotions, turning it into something more difficult than it has to be. Writing for so many is such a personal endeavor, the scribbles of an inner life begging to be set free. The words not just mere assemblies of letters, but notes that sing out in the melody of you or who you may be at that time. I can always go back to reread something I wrote a long time ago and meet myself again. Another me that was in another place, and another time, feeling some kind of way that I can barely remember in my mind, but can feel in my heart through what’s on the page.

I have always found writing to be the quickest way to myself. A direct route to what I’m going through, and to the person I’m longing to be. The consideration of all this makes it clear why writing scares me, even when it thrills me. Something that excites those parts of you can also make you feel uneasy and unsure. That uncertainty always battling against the need to break through. How could it not be a frightful thing? However, I would like to report that there has been a shift.

Recently, after many attempts, I’ve decided to throw myself into the deep end and put more of my creative pursuits out there. Although it’s really not an, “out there,” as much as it is letting the world in and being unafraid of the reverberations it may send back. Any are a blessing, because it means contact has been made. My writing an offering to the extraterrestrial keepers of the written word to permit my entry, accept my contributions, or at the very least let me tag along on the journey of making things. The high and mighty sentiment within this piece isn’t to make me look good, or smart, or some other impressive adjective. They are just my thoughts and feelings about something I love doing and don’t have a choice but to do. Whenever you hold something so dear, polish it into preciousness, and place it deep within your identity, of course fear isn’t too far behind. It is our decision as to whether that fear becomes a help or a hindrance.

Throughout my life thus far it’s been the latter. I’ve been careful to never tip my hat too far in either direction so I wouldn’t have to show myself, be fully who I am, and see how that manifests within my writing. All those little stories turned secrets, still making friends with the dust bunnies in the cupboard. Higher and higher up it went until I worried, I would no longer be able to reach for its handle and give it another go at opening, so this time I hung on for good. Now, the door remains open, and I fall into a bed of rushing yet reassuring waters. If you’re reading this right now, you’ll know, today, I have conquered my fear.

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How fear kept my creativity in the dark was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.