Writing Has Given Me Anxiety
The downside to writing about vulnerability
Writing is my muse. It is my salvation. My therapy. I love writing and I have learned to love myself because of it. I thank my husband for pushing me to do it, and my son for inspiring me daily to write about my experiences as a mother.
Mostly, I thank myself for the commitment I have been able to stick to so far in building my career writing, despite having zero experience in the field.
Nothing is off-limits. I can literally write about anything and everything, and since I am not doing this solely for the money, my aim is different — to learn and grow, and then to help others learn and grow.
I aim to reach millions with my stories in the hopes that others will relate and feel like they are not alone.
Particularly, I write about motherhood in the hopes that other mothers can feel empowered and strong, because we, as parents, are miracle workers at worst, and goddesses at best — especially on the days we struggle most and still manage to get up the next morning to do it all over again.
And writing is a good career. I have no boss per se, I work flexible hours, and I choose what to write about. The money has started to roll in, and I am finally understanding the term “passive income” when I still get paid for articles I wrote months ago. I have met some great fellow writers, both new and experienced, and I feel like I am part of a team even if we don’t share an office.
The great author Elan Cassandra wrote a beautiful article titled “When Something Needs to be Written” which summarises exactly how I have been feeling. To summarise it, she says:
There was something else I needed to write. And ignoring the thing I needed to write was only going to continue to make my writing life difficult.
I too have not felt 100% with my articles recently, and I feel it is because of a feeling that was yet to be unexplored, and it has been trying to make its way up the roots of my consciousness. It’s something I can no longer ignore, so I am putting it into an article with the hopes that it will help me continue my wonderful journey as a writer.
The Detrimental Side to Writing
Writing has forced me to confront my demons — and I’m not always ready for its effects.
I have written about my experiences as a child being bullied. I have had to get down on paper events that have hurt me so I can turn them into something positive. Much of this has not been published because I am not ready for them to become public, but the act of writing them down as stories has helped me deal with the feelings I have about them.
But they have stirred a lot of heightened emotions of worry and fear in me that I didn’t necessarily want to get acquainted with again.
While I am on this journey of self-growth and development, I feel I have faced some setbacks. I’ve recently had small bouts of anxiety and I have struggled to sleep.
And I blame my writing.
Being alone with your thoughts hurts sometimes
When I talk about painful experiences I tend to channel those emotions in order for me to be able to articulate them.
But it is almost as if I have suffered vicarious trauma from remembering and overthinking my past. I’m a victim of collateral damage simply by recalling and retelling painful events.
Am I narcissistic?
Being a lone wolf, I worry that I might have become a little self-obsessed. Since all I write about is related to me and my life experiences, and we are in a pandemic where my social interactions are quite minimal and thus the topics I discuss and think about every day are very self-centred, it just feels narcissistic and self-victimizing.
I question the severity of my feelings. I wonder if I take them too seriously.
Also, I question whether I have inadvertently given too much credit to the events that I feel affected me as a child and as a young adult. I fear that I give too much weight to them because it is common to blame my current feelings on the past. And while it may be helpful to understand my feelings today, I am not sure it helps me feel better every time.
Imposter syndrome mocks me
The biggest and most unexpected feeling I’ve had recently is imposter syndrome for a couple of reasons.
Firstly, I feel that by exploring my deepest and most painful thoughts, they have magnified, and thus have become exaggerated in my story-telling. Sometimes, I even dismiss my own feelings for I’ve not actually had it as bad as others, and it doesn’t feel right for me to draw attention to myself.
I’ve had everything one needs to live an objectively good life — a good home, supportive parents, a great husband with whom we have started a family, and the best friends one could ask for.
“Nothing I have felt could be so bad to write about, surely?” Is a question my self-doubt asks me at night.
Secondly, I doubt myself as a writer. Although I don’t aim to be rich, I get scared about how much exposure my articles have had, which is not much compared to what I aim for, and I feel it is because I am a fake. I often wonder if readers who stumble upon my work think to themselves, “this is too much for too little”.
With these combined feelings I feel I am bringing them into my actual life and taking them out on my present circumstances. I am sparking arguments with my husband, or worse, snapping at my son for little to no reason.
Takeaway
Firstly, I know that it takes a hell of a lot of time and perseverance to “make it” as a writer. I know I need to just keep going, but sometimes I still feel beaten.
I also understand that in order to get over the events that made me feel one way or another, I have to confront them.
Writing has massively aided this. I repeat again that this is the best therapy I have ever had. I have more often than not felt much better after telling my stories, especially the unpublished ones.
But I hope that the recent feelings of worry or fear are down to me simply remembering past events that induced those emotions and that I am not battling something new and longlasting.
I wonder if something traumatic happened to me years ago that triggered these feelings in me now. Or if the pandemic lockdowns that we have been in on and off for a year are simply getting to me and I’ll be fine once the world is open again.
I wonder if this is simply the side effect of writing about vulnerability and whether I need to seek another kind of therapy to support myself.
In any case, I write because I aim to help others feel like they are not alone, and I guess this article aims to find others that have felt like I do now, so I can feel like I am not alone.
Is anyone with me?
Thank you for reading.
Sylvia Emokpae is passionate about self-love and motherhood. See more work like this.