Confidence training - doing one thing every day that scares me.

Do one thing each day that scares you.

For me, that could consist of numerous activities.  Most of all, anything which exposes my 'real' self.   To share anything which I have created from my heart scares the absolute shit out of me.

Why?

Lack of self-belief; the fear of being rejected, ridiculed, told point blank that what I have created is complete shit.

I surmise at times that my efforts at writing are utter crap.

I mean, what is my message?  What point am I attempting to get across?  Sure, I love writing, putting my chaotic thoughts down upon paper and attempting to make sense of the mess.

But am I actually any good?  Does anyone actually benefit from what I write, or ought I just keep my words hidden away in a private journal, stashed under my pillow?

Being deemed good, or shit for that matter, is all relative.

Yet being aware of this does not lessen the insecurity felt from within.

In an attempt to grow in confidence, I have decided to set myself the task of doing something each day that scares me.  Something that causes me to feel a little nauseous, but ultimately empowers me.

I am not talking about grand things; no bungee jumping or anything like that.

Just little things, things which may seem insignificant to an outsider, but which are huge deals to me personally.

For little over a year now I have been putting my poems to music.  I think I have around five poems which I have crafted into songs.

I love singing.  However, to sing my own songs in front of anyone causes me to have a complete meltdown.  Karaoke I can do, belting out another's song is fun (and usually happens after a shot or five of dutch courage).  But performing my own songs?  Shit, that's like peeling back the skin of my chest to expose my heart.

If someone tells me I can't sing, well that's cool, it's a matter of opinion.  To be told you can't sing and that your song sucks?  Well that's just fucking murder of the soul right there!

Okay, so I'm being over dramatic, but the fear of ridicule combined with a lack of self-belief has meant that none of my songs/poems to music have ever been heard by anyone other than myself (and my mum!)

So, in the spirit of "Project Confidence Boost", yesterday I decided to record myself singing one of my songs and post it to my Facebook profile.

Now my Facebook profile is locked down private, and only those who are on my friends list can view anything I post.  So it was not like I was putting myself out there for the criticism of complete strangers.  Still, it terrified me just as much as it would have done if I had been posted it on an open profile.

Still I did it.  As I pressed post I thought 'fuck it, what's the worst that can happen?' followed by a distinct sick feeling.

Why the fuck would anyone want to watch this?

Why not?

The accompanying caption to the video stated that I was in no way delusional or attempting to be the next Lianne Le Havas, but I felt the need to share a little bit of me.

The song/poem writing is a hobby, it brings me joy.  The point of sharing wasn't anything more than an exercise of putting myself out there, to show myself that the consequences of doing so would not be as dire as I had imagined.

It also brought me to a significant aha moment.  Without feedback how can I improve?  And this isn't restricted to the music, but to everything we create in life.  Without sharing, we never get the opportunity to receive feedback (good and bad), and without feedback we will never know if others like or dislike something we have created - in a way, we stunt our own growth.

I also discovered that I felt a sense of power in doing something that scared me.  Even if no one had seen or bothered to comment on my little video; the act of putting it out there felt good.  I did it.

Now to decide on what today's 'scary thing' will be.

Eye contact with strangers?

Don't be so hard on yourself - Self love & Compassion.

As Jess Glynne sang in that gorgeous soulful voice of her's "Don't be so hard on yourself"

The past few days, those exact words have been playing on a loop inside my head.  I have been in a major funk.  Stuck in an imaginary limbo created by my own mind and amplified by my penchant for procrastination.

I am my own worst enemy, a harsh critic.  There is no one on this earth whose words could be so scathingly hurtful as my own.  In a way this is something of a blessing, another's opinion and criticism of me will never hurt me as much as I hurt myself.  It is also paralyzing curse that shackles me to the radiator and leaves me stuck in non-action. 

The root cause - fear and low self-esteem.

Both of which are the reason I have a section of my living room floor dedicated to stacks upon stacks of self-help literature and 'how to' guides. 

I berate myself for not being passionate or ambitious enough in regards to money.  Money has never been what drives me.  When I was younger and had dreams of becoming a dancer, my mother, in her concern for how I would support myself, warned me that dance was a precarious profession and that I would be best of focusing on a 'proper job'.  

My response was, and I still stand by it: I would dance for free, money isn't the reason for wanting to follow my dreams.  In the same way I write for free.  I write because I love it, I dance because I love it.  To make money from my dreams would be fantastic, but it is not what lies within my motivations for pursuing them.  I do what I love regardless.

I'm happy in low stress ( I say this relatively) hospitality roles.  Waitress work in bars and restaurants suits me just fine.  I love the interaction, the busyness, the physical nature of the job.  Roles that do not put so much pressure on me that they suck the life force from me and leave me lacking energy to pursue what I truly love.

There is so much emphasis upon making a career from our dreams.

And that totally kills the fun and joy.  And for me personally, when too much pressure is added my creativity likes to take a hike.

Does money equal success?

Depends on our unique perceptions. 

Through writing this very post, with no clear view of how it would come together, or what the clear focus of it would be, I have managed to free myself from the self-inflicted funk.  

This is what I love about writing.  It allows you to come to realizations you hadn't even thought of prior putting pen to paper - or fingertips to keyboard.

I am frustrated by my lack of money driven ambition.  And that's okay, simply because; I am not a failure because I am not driven by monetary reasons.  I still pursue what I love.

So what if I am not over enthusiastic for planning and organisation and desk jobs and the corporate realm.  So what if the thought of donning a suit everyday and working for 60 hours a week doesn't fill me with excitement.  So what if I am met me looks of bewilderment when I say that once my degree is finished that I would rather work in a cafe/bar and be happy whilst earning just enough for my needs, than work in an office and be stressed and unhappy whilst raking in the moulah.

If we are happy and content with our choices, in turn that makes us kinder people.  Money doesn't create happiness, it creates the greater possibility for freedom, but it keeps you imprisoned in the quest whilst you earn "your freedom".

Freedom is a state of mind.  Happiness is a choice.

I am not lazy simply because I do not want to spend my life rushing around and getting stressed out over, what in the end will turn out to be, very trivial shit.

It's okay to not be organised.

It's okay to not be all goal orientated.

It's okay to live moment to moment and not think too much about the future.

It's okay to be exactly who you are at whatever moment.

Comparisons to others are deadly, and a enormous waste of emotional energy.

My funk came from comparisons, because I'm not doing what "successful people" do.

My funk came from my perceived failings; but now I realise I do not want to be "that kinda person" anyway.

I am totally at peace with the person that I am.

Procrastination could be seen as the souls way of telling you that the shit you're putting off isn't completely necessary in the grand scheme of things anyway. Plus, I also tend not to procrastinate when I'm doing what I love.  It's the things that I hate and that don't truly align that bring about procrastination (for me anyway).

Ta rah funk.  I'm choosing to stop being so hard on myself.  For now at least...

A loss of Equilibrium - Dissertation heartache

Take five deep breaths.

Calm yet? No?

Take five more, maybe ten.  Actually, it's probably a good idea to just keep going until your equilibrium returns.

My equilibrium is somewhat elusive these days.

Replaced by frustration, anger, self-criticism and some serious self-defeating inner dialogue.

Did I say these days?  I'm being somewhat dramatic, it's actually only fully evident today.  The past week has felt like progress.  But today has felt like a grand cha-cha-cha backwards.  Suddenly I feel lost and hopeless.  Things aren't panning out the way I expected, and I find myself shouting and loosing my shit over tiny slights that wouldn't usually scratch the surface of my temperament.

And it's frustrating the shit out of me.

Why the hell am I so angry?  Why do I feel like today is the end of the world?

Is it a moon day?  Is my cycle due?

The last two are usually really reliable indicators of the change in my mood and sudden loss of equilibrium.  But they are not the influencers today.

Therefore I make an attempt to be reflexive - examine where these feelings are coming from and why.

I'm left stumped.

I'm left even more frustrated with myself for not being able to read my own intuition.

In tears I look upward and whisper, Please fucking help me out!?

As of yet, no bright lights or visions in burning bushes have occurred.

So I'm breathing.  And writing.  And sharing this sorry tale with whomever drops by my site today.

Then it dawns on me.  My dissertation is due to be handed in on May 5th, less than a week away.  The inspiration for the topic and content decided to disappear out of the door at top speed after only 950 words, and I've been treading water and slowly sinking under frivolous and superfluous sentences and bad structure ever since.

My heart isn't in it, hasn't been for quite some time.  The only reason I am making an attempt to actually complete it is to save face in front of my parents - they perceive me to be a starter whom never actually finishes anything.  Whereas my perception of the way I conduct my life is more along the lines of - oh that looks interesting, I'll give that a go - oh not really what I expected and not particularly working out, shan't waste any more time here...moving on!!  I haven't enjoyed university since I started there just under 3 years ago.  And I'm no longer willing to pretend that I did.

From the impending deadline issue stems the reality that university is basically over, and I have little to no idea how I am going to go about supporting myself and my little dude for the foreseeable future.  Scary shit.  On the other hand, a fine opportunity for new beginnings.

But a new beginning of what?  That I do not know.  Whether I graduate or not, I am still no clearer on what the next step to take is likely to be.  And my passions and dreams are not yet honed enough to generate an income.  

The breathing worked a little, it lead me to sit down and write this.  In writing this I see the light side of the situation, and the reality that even if I fail the degree it's hardly the end of the world, I mean I survived for 26 years and was gainfully employed for the majority of ten of those years prior to any university study.  Some of the roles weren't as fulfilling as others, but all provided a wealth of experience.

It's time to get creative and brainstorm/mindmap myself a solution.  One thing I am certain, even on the days when my equilibrium is compromised and I look set to traverse wildly towards the canyon of the self defeatist death river - there is always a solution.  There is always possibility and opportunity if one is willing to look beyond the tip of the nose and outside the box with imagination and an open mind!

The cynical fucker within me isn't fully behind the truth or validity of paragraph above.  The little sod would rather I sat in my tears, stuffing my face with chocolate and whining to myself.  

The chocolate part I might indulge - but cynicism and pessimistic attitudes are so fucking last year.

No accident

Self Reflection - Ugly Truth....

Photo - Oscar Keys/Unsplash

It was a Friday night.  Wintry, dark and cold.
Late.
The perfect time for melancholic examinations of self and purpose to commence.

Who the fuck am I?!?

The questions began to roll into her conscious mind.  Red wine, cheap red wine will advance this process and allow for the momentum required to get to the bottom of this matter.

Class yourself as a feminist?  What, because you read a bit of Simone de Beauvoir's "The Second Sex"?  And basically, it's just placed strategically upon a shelf on display in your living room?  That's keeping up (false) appearances my love, don't kid yourself!

So what, you know who Donna Harraway is.  Who gives a shit that you "think" you understand the concept of the Cyborg Manifesto?  You grasped it - barely - I use the term grasp in the lightest possible sense of the world.  

So she steals others thoughts.  An accumulation of theivery of other's ideas and constructing them into her own identity.  She's a basic mis-match of other's identities - masquerading them as her own.

Stealing thoughts and then proceeding to throw them around carelessly into conversations in an attempt to feel cultured and educated.  What a fucking delusion.  What a fraud!!

IMPOSTER!!!

Who the fuck am I?

How many coke binges does it take until you can class yourself as an addict?

How many men do you have to sleep with to class yourself a slut?

Why the need for categorization?
Is it even important?

If you don't know who the fuck you are, I assume it provides comfort to be able to place yourself somewhere.  In some way it helps you make some sense of it all?

She played the part of the broken girl for years.  Damaged.  Starving herself, inhaling shit up her pretty little nostrils in an attempt to appear more interesting, less dull.

Ironically (but not surprisingly), all that shit just made her dull.  It dimmed her light, and extinguished her soul.  And now she plays the victim card, complaining that she is lost.

But she wanted to be lost?  

The Universe is confused by the manifestations of this creature.  She gave her all that she wanted.

Play a part for long enough, and the pretense becomes the person.

She sat uncomfortably with her thoughts.

She had created this life for herself.

So she did what any sane person would choose to do in such circumstances, she vowed to never again drink a cheap red and contemplate herself at the same time, ever again!

She also decided that from this exact point she was primarily responsible for her life.

She was done playing the damaged card.

She was done with judgement and harsh self-criticism.

She was done with the pretense.

What is Love ~ Poem

Photo - Mario Azzi - Unsplash

A life 

In which she is scared to love

To be loved

For she does not know

What love really is.

Is love sex

Is it lust

Passion and pain

for her

One and the same

The mundane

The day to day

The minutiae...

Is that love?

Afraid

Afraid of allowing herself to be loved

Her imperfect self

Her completely human self

Afraid to give up autonomy

To be one part

Of another

"No Man is an Island"

Yet she keeps 

Surrounding herself with walls

Alone, Protected

Yet the desire for connection calls

Flexibility and Strength ~ Perfect Partners

Photo - Christopher Campbell/Unsplash

Physical activity, there is no denying how good moving our bodies can make us look and feel.  The benefits are endless, and ours to enjoy once we get good old motivation on our side and create a habit out of engaging in some form of physical exertion a few times a week.

As a previous pilates devote, I was all for combining stretching with strengthening to achieve the toned slender physique of a dancer, but I got bored with the same old pilates sequences.  My insides used to groan every time I heard: Okay, so now let's get into position to do the saw.  I was sick to the back teeth of the bloody saw!

I decided to take a break for a while.  And generally didn't do much in the form of working out apart from walking everywhere - which is something that comes naturally to me, as I've always enjoyed walking (plus I don't drive - the DVLA don't trust me enough to grant me with a license, after three failed attempts at passing my test, I came to accept that I wasn't meant to drive).  During my exercise hiatus I began my exploration of meditation and its wealth of benefits, and as a natural progression, became really curious about yoga.  Yet I was put off, and slightly intimidated by yoga.  I have extremely tight hamstrings, and am no where near as flexible as I thought I needed to be to practice yoga. Don't get me wrong, I still gave it a shot, but I think somewhere along the road it became more about a competition with myself to see how deep into a stretch I could get - no longer yoga, more like torture stretching!

So I turned my attention to general bodyweight exercises, with some weights and HIIT thrown in.  And wow! did this shit work!  And once I got over the initial I seriously can't be arsed doing burpees today I experienced some wicked endorphin highs following my work-outs.  I felt like I could conquer the bloody world!

But....

I got bored.  No matter how creative I got with my circuits, and no matter how much I switched things up, I just became super complacent with the whole shebang.

I was at a fork in the work-out road.  I didn't want to stop completely, because I had developed some seriously awesome oblique shit, and I didn't want to turn all jelly.  I also didn't want my work-outs to become a chore which I dreaded. As soon as that happens, my heart dismisses itself from the process, and then none of it ends up being beneficial to my well-being.

Here's where I revisited yoga, specifically Ashtanga yoga.  Well known for creating bodies of solid awesomeness, and a sort after toned physique.  And what I found this time round, was that due to the strength I had built up from engaging in bodyweight circuit training and HIIT I could perform the asanas in a much more controlled and engaged way.  I finally learnt that yoga isn't all about being bendy Wendy, and having the capability to wrap your feet around your head.  It really needs a foundation of strength to support that flexibility. 

This then led me to understand what my old dance tutor at college had told me about increasing the width of my straddle stretch - with strength comes the flexibility - and less the likelihood of injury.  

So for the moment I'm committed to maintaining a consistent Ashtanga practice - nurturing body, mind and soul.