My Gift of Writing

I'm done. I finished the last of my undergraduate assignments this morning. I checked off the boxes, I planned my next week, empty except for some stickers.

And yet. I have this nagging feeling, one that comes up in my nightmares and my daytime anxieties. A feeling that I cannot make it. A feeling that I am not worthy. A feeling that I am not as capable as I seem to be.

This feeling, reminiscent of "imposter syndrome" started a while ago, and it has little to do with my impending graduation. For that, I know I did the work just like everyone else. I got good grades, I went to the club fairs, I made friends, I had an amazing college experience. It's not even a fear that I am not qualified to be entering a master's program in positive psychology because honestly, that has been the theme and focus of my college experience. No, none of those. I'll be honest with you guys, which I always have been, but this time it's different.

I'm afraid I'm not a good writer.


Wait, what?? You might be thinking to yourself. Not only are you an incredibly eloquent and beautiful writer, but you spent years forming your skills and becoming the well-written speaker and storyteller we all know and love.

Yeah. I know. I get those comments a lot. And it may seem petty or selfish of me to disregard all the incredible, thoughtful, and sweet comments I get every time I post. Heck, my uncle complimented me on my writing, and he doesn't compliment anyone. 

And yet. My mom tells me how friends of hers come up and praise my writing, telling her how strong and powerful my story is. She relays this information to me, and in my gut I feel a twinge, like somehow I am not worthy of having a voice, of telling my story.

I don't know why this is. I have a good amount of confidence in most areas in my life (and some where I should probably be much more humble), but for some reason, it's my writing, this one thing I have that is my pride and joy, that baffles me.

My mom tells me I have a gift. I have a gift for writing, for using words to convey universal truths in uniquely specific and personal ways. And it's not just a gift that was thrust upon me-- this gift is the result of years of hard work and terrible poems and unfinished first drafts of poems about raindrops and metaphorical tears.

I know all of this. Maybe there's something good, like how I can feel that shock and surprise whenever I hear a compliment. Like, really? Lil ol me? You like MY writing?

I'm not sure how to end this other than to say this is my truth, this is my insecurity, and this is all weighing on me every time I feel unworthy of praise. So, if you are insecure about your writing, your math skills, your drawing abilities-- I feel that too.

The important thing is to not let it stop you from doing what you do. Because in the end, whether we want to share it with the world or not, we all have gifts. And don't let anyone-- much less yourself-- keep you from exploring the present and enjoying your gift.

With love, Rivi