on the seriousness of selling yourself short.
I am guilty of something.
On its surface, it doesn't really seem that serious. Maybe just a blip on the radar, maybe just producing a couple of turned heads or shuffling feet or shifting eyes. Maybe producing a little bit of disappointment among my loved ones. Maybe producing just a little bit of disappointment within myself.
But it's there. And it manifests itself through weeks of silence in my ink & paper journals, months of practical silence here in this space, as I mask myself with photos & outfit boards & not-really-writing that I tend to put out when I'm falling back into this detrimental behavior.
It's nothing serious - nothing to be scared of. But, it's there. And then again, it manifests itself through a closing-off of myself. Through a sort of denying, a sort of squelching of identity. A forgetting of who I am, what I like, what I'm meant to do.
I am guilty of selling myself short.
And, you know, maybe it is something serious. Maybe it is something I need to work my hardest to eliminate from my life. Maybe it is something worth fighting.
We only have one life to live here on this Earth, & I don't know about you, but I'd like mine to be the best, the fullest, the most-effort-given kind of time there can be. And that kind of time doesn't happen when you feel as though your all is not worth anything, or that your all is not enough.
So, I'll fight. I won't let what I'm guilty of win. Because it simply doesn't deserve to.