Pitfall Anxiety

How Guilty Do You Feel After You Publish A Piece?

I feel wretched!

I don’t know about you, but the minute I press Publish, or get a note from a publication telling me my piece is live, I feel anxious.

I feel the guilt rising and I can even tell you where it is. It’s just below my sternum in the middle of my abdomen where the solar plexus is.

Eastern medicine has long associated this region with shame, low self-esteem, fear and guilt. So it’s no surprise I feel it there. Like someone is working away at that spot with a blunt knife. Accompanied by the voice:

You’re a fraud and you know it!

I stopped using social media for this very reason. Shut down my Facebook account seven years ago and haven’t used it since.

I couldn’t handle it. Every time I posted anything, even a photo of my dog or cat, the fear would build, waiting for the acerbic comments.

‘You? Have a DOG!

Of course, they never came. It was all in my head, as I just got comments like: ‘Cute!’

Occasionally — if I felt brave enough — I would link through to stories I’d written on my blog. But then I could barely breathe, fearing the backlash from my so-called friends.

In the end, the mental anguish wasn’t worth it, so I closed it down. And looking back, it was one of the best things I’ve done.

When I came to Medium two years ago, it felt OK. One, no one knew me. Secondly, I had no followers. A blank slate.

But then you build it up. People start reading. Then the same people clap and comment, they become regular readers, and your new friends.

Then the fear starts. Oh God, here we go again! Can’t you just leave this writing game alone, Phil? Do something else? Like get a job!

Ah, so there it is.

The Voice Of My Father

And so the whole conversation starts over. The same conversation we had for thirty years.

My dad is dead now, but I still hear his voice in my head. And that voice, I hear through my readers whenever I publish a piece.

My subconscious goes on the defensive. A mechanism to insulate me against bad news. It’s a stupid way of thinking. A negative mindset that sucks the joy out of writing.

Luckily, it doesn’t last for long, as I generally get good feedback. Sometimes even praise.

And yet, every piece I publish, I fear the worst. The feeling that this is going to be the one where the knives come out.

You’re a fraud and you know it!

I’m almost trembling now. The fear is rising like a monster. A demon exploding from my abdomen like that scene from Alien.

And then I wonder why I bother. And start listening to my father’s voice again.

Get a job!

And on we go, round and round. Until the next piece. And the next. And the next.