The Ridiculous Head Games We Play With Ourselves

I've heard that this tends to be a problem among creative and sensitive people. I at least have suffered with this all my life. It may have been part and parcel of growing up in a family where nothing we did was ever good enough. From my current vantage point I realize that my parents probably thought that nothing they did was ever good enough either. Nonetheless, it doesn't make it any easier. One day I'll probably go into therapy again and work on it some more.

I feel guilty when I'm doing something I want to rather than something I have to. I'm almost done with nursing school. I'll be done in just one more week. I only worked at my regular job twice this month: once on the first Saturday of the month, and will work once more tonight. My husband has been very understanding and encouraging, but I still feel guilty as hell for not drawing a paycheck--and I feel like I've been beaten with a stick. I've been working even though I haven't been working for pay, and it's been as hard or harder than my usual job. 

I want to work on my story a little but I hold myself back. I feel like I should be doing housework, but I really don't want to. I feel like I should be studying for my nursing boards, but I spent an entire day in class yesterday doing that. I know my weak areas and will probably do a little studying before I go to work. 

I hate the way I hold myself back. When I never do anything I want I tend to start feeling depressed and resentful, which isn't doing me or my family any favors. I am truly my own worst enemy and a harsher critic than either of my parents ever were--and they were both very tough bosses. My siblings and I don't see them very often, generally only on holidays. Ours was not a very nurturing upbringing. Luckily we've tended to be very supportive of each other.

My sister isn't the sort to show overt emotion, which I know has been hard for her kids in some ways. She tends to express her love through actions rather than words. I'm more demonstrative than she is with my emotions, although I'm not particularly touchy-feely either. I'll hug those close to me but I don't tend to kiss anyone except my husband, even in a non-passionate way. 

My brother is the most demonstrative of all of us when it comes to affection. He's very expressive, a somewhat flamboyant openly gay guy. I don't think my kids, especially my son, would have turned out as well as they did without their uncle's love and support. There were times when they were growing up that my emotional state did not allow me to be there for them the way they needed and deserved. But I was always open with them about what was going on, and I think that helped.

I am going to write a little and then I'll open this study program that my parents payed $350 for. I have to give them credit. Maybe in their twilight years they're trying to show their kids support in their own way.

Long Time No See

I haven't done any social networking or even worked on my story in almost two months. I got really worn down and then ended up getting sick and depressed. I decided to hold off on my final semester of nursing school and just take an online course instead. Instead I'm focusing on being supportive of my son while he goes through paramedic training. He says it helps to have someone help him study. Husband is actually a better source though because he trained and worked as an EMT early on after immigrating here.

Sometimes things come back and bite you on the ass no matter how much your life improves. I realize that I'm still very insecure. I started questioning what made me think I had any kind of talent for writing, and wondering who reads erotica anyway. And then I find myself wondering always what a handsome, slender guy like my husband sees in an old fat chick like me. I started getting paranoid to the point where I was thinking he must be looking around by now--after all, he dated this supermodel looking girl before we were together. He laughed it off, reminding me that surely since I work in the hospital too I must know that people don't actually make out in supply closets or unoccupied gurneys or beds like on E.R. or Gray's Anatomy. (I did know a couple who ended up making it on a slab down in the morgue once, no joke. Not for me! Laughed my ass off when they told me, though.) Still, I know it bothers him a bit when I start getting paranoid like this. I can't let it screw things up for me.

I'm going to try working on my story even though I still feel insecure about it. I've written this stuff all along for myself but doing it with intent to publish is something else entirely.