Insecurity is my biggest downfall. It feels like quicksand, sucking me deeper and deeper into a pit of inadequacy, despair, anxiety, and self-hatred. I know I can’t be the only one out there who has days/weeks/months like this, so here is a reblog from one of my favorite writers, a woman who has provided me with a lifeline out of the quicksand more than once, thanks to her insights.
Everyone I have ever known—I take that back—every likeable person I have ever known in this world has admitted to periods of sheer insecurity. They looked at themselves from the perspective of someone else—perhaps a person with no appreciate of their talents, personality traits, abilities—and judged themselves unfairly according to the perverted view.
I am terribly insecure much of the time. I grew up with bad acne, braces, and a twin sister who was in the popular group. The adolescent self-doubt had sticking power. At times I can pull off the image of a self-confident author and writer, but it usually lasts as long as the speaking event or lunch with my editor.
Lately the junior high inferiority complex has made a surprise visit, and I’m…
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