Procrastination.
My worst and constant companion.
We coexist. Living in a toxic, symbiotic relationship I can’t escape from.
… but do I even want to?
Perhaps, the hug of procrastination feels safe, even if his crushing grip hurts me in the end. It’s possible, stepping into unknown tasks feels riskier than the burn of delaying them. Or maybe, it’s the deep-seated fear of never being good enough that sends me running back to his suffocating arms.
The truth is: it’s a mix of all three.
It’s hard to call yourself a writer when you shy away from your Word doc and keyboard at any given chance. It’s hard to say you’re dedicated to your art when he’s always there, tossing up enticing distractions that send me straying from the unfinished page and blinking cursor.
And It works. He never fails to stop me from fulfilling the one thing I’m meant to do.
Write.
It’s ironic, to love a thing so much, and yet find it impossible to begin. And the question I end up thinking is, how can he possibly spoil something that I choose to do?
That answer is easy.
Fear.
Fear of judgement. Of failure. Of putting myself out there and getting turned away.
It’s those choking fears that make procrastination like me so much. He can smell the doubt and uncertainty clutched close to my heart and he feeds off it.
Without the fear, procrastination would starve, and I’d be rid of my freeloader forever.
Which brings me to my next questions. How? How do I stop my fear? And how do I stop him?
And what I’ve discovered is this.
I can’t.
No matter how good I get, no matter how many stories I produce, the fear of never succeeding, never amounting to anything, is always there.
Showing your work to someone is like baring a little piece of your soul. Hoping they won’t look at it, scoff, and pound it into the ground.
And that’s where procrastination makes himself present. He knows trying can lead to rejection, to pain, to failure. And with every degrading whisper, he convinces me not to keep going. And sometimes…
I let him.
He’s only trying to protect me after all.
But at what cost?
The key to getting better is to not let my fears stop me. No matter what could go wrong, no matter if no one likes my work. You’ll never know what could have been if you never tried. And I’m so close to breaking through the mental barrier that I’m not enough.
But he’s still there.
Awaiting me with open arms.
Hoping I’ll run back to him like I always do.
I hear his voice in my head telling me, You’re no good. You’ll be a failure. Stop trying.
And too many times I give in, sustaining him with belief I am inadequate. Fueling him with my insecurity.
So where does that leave me? A writer who doesn’t write. A storyteller with no stories. Do I continue to exist stagnantly? Never moving towards my goals or achieving my dreams?
That’s not what I want.
What I want is to write.
Because I love it. And that’s what should matter.
As for the rest of it. The fear, the doubt, the worry…
Him.
It’s all noise. What matters is my love of creating. And I don’t want to stop. Not for anything. Especially not for him.
So maybe I can’t rid myself of my fears entirely, but pushing through them to continue moving forward is a good start. And the more I do it, the less procrastination will hinder my progress.
Procrastination.
My brain’s way of avoiding pain.
But you don’t get anywhere without a little suffering.
And maybe acceptance is the first step to getting rid of him for good.
Anais
Work experience