“You’re a fearless writer Liz”
My friend, Ray, left this comment for me on a recent Instagram post I made about the 10th anniversary of a column I used to write. My heart sank like an anchor when I read his words.
“I used to be,” I thought to myself. “Now, all I am is afraid.”
In addition to that column, I used to write a B2B email newsletter three times a week to more than 45,000 active subscribers. In it, I never shied away from big topics like depression, pandemic-induced loneliness, weird conversations with my cat, growth, and success. By sheer force of will (and under the looming presence of obnoxiously immovable deadlines), I transmuted life experiences into something others could hopefully learn from.
But for the past year — a tumultuous year marked by intense amounts of self-initiated change (launching my own business, a painful divorce, relocating, starting my entire life over from scratch, etc.) — I have never felt more terrified of my own keyboard.
That doesn’t really work when you’re a writer for a living. Particularly when you’ve also spent years telling brands and industry thought leaders that their bold, genuine voice is how they trade unforgettable mediocrity for becoming undeniable.
In my darkest moments over the summer, there were times when I wondered if I was full of shit back then (in my writing heyday), full of shit now, or some horrible combination of the two.
“You’re just the has-been sad girl,” I told myself. “The big, fearful fraud.”
I wish this was the moment I could say something like:
And that’s when this majestic, fedora-wearing giraffe appeared at my window with a six-pack of beer and many wise words that snapped me out of my writing funk!