I Allowed Self-Doubt To Keep Me Away From the Keyboard

Last September, I decided that I’d move out of Berlin and move back in with the family. Knowing I’d live rent-free, I was slowly burning a hole in my bank balance. The date I’d send my landlord the cancelation notice was nearing. But when it arrived, I had changed my mind. I was staying.

I needed rent money, but I didn’t have it. Solving this financial issue became the prime focus. Not writing on this platform.

The consistent publishing streak vanished once again.

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Some make it seem so effortless. Writing online. The dream life as a freelance writer. Write a bit here and there, bathe in money. As if.

Earlier in spring, my first pure freelance writing client found me through a blog. I was hyped! I was hopeful. If all went well, I’d gain experience, improve my skills, maybe get hired by them permanently or even as an employee. A few months in, we put a halt to our collaboration. In reality: I got fired. No hard feelings towards them whatsoever. They did their best on their end too. They supported me, always gave constructive feedback, and were always respectful.

Getting fired did realize this may not be as easy as I had thought it would be. I had work to do.

Later on, more potential clients found me through the blog and LinkedIn. I had a few promising interviews with companies I would have loved to work with. Unfortunately, the stars didn’t align. One company with an awesome product already filled up the position shortly after my interview. The other company had a cool product as well. The role was somewhat too technical for me, which I discovered after their test assignment. They eventually went with someone more senior than me.

I applied to gigs I was sure I’d get. In reality, I got nothing. No job, no acknowledgment of my existence. Of course, they had a wealth of applicants to choose from. They simply went with their best option.

Bagging clients was not that easy. Not ones I’d love to work for. Because that’s the idea, isn’t it? Not suffer your way through each assignment for a rate that barely pays the bills.

The dream is to wake up with a smile and work on exciting projects for your dream clients. Why was I not securing them?

I started to question my capabilities.

Am I not successful at freelancing because I suck? Should I just quit this whole writing thing altogether? What will I do with my life instead?

Funnily, all my recent clients have hired me purely for writing gigs. And I prioritized serving them to blogging for myself here on this platform.

Still, I wondered why I wasn’t speeding ahead, like “the others” were. Holding down a job, working for multiple high-paying clients, nurturing a family, blogging regularly, sending out a daily newsletter, and posting multiple times per week on social? How are they managing? Because I am not.

Again, this is making comparisons. Although unnecessary and not fair towards myself, it made me feel like crap.

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Last summer, when the collaboration with this freelance client ended, I had a lot of time on my hands. I more or less wrote on this platform, full-time, at a relaxed pace. I haven’t had and won’t have this luxury for a while.

Others were pushing through, and writing until their fingers bled. Why couldn’t I? The thought crossed my mind again. Did I, again, pick the wrong occupation or obsessive hobby?

I see those of you who are posting regularly. I feel a slight surge of envy. Not that I’m not getting better. Just never at the pace I desire. Or at your pace. When I look at some pieces I wrote even a year ago, my gag reflex is triggered. I feel discontentment surge through my body. This on its own is a success to me: if I think I sucked that much, that means I have improved!

And learning and improving is the ultimate goal.

I have solved my financial situation now. By doing so, I created extra mental space I could allocate elsewhere. For example, here, on this platform. Or I wouldn’t be writing this text.

The self-doubt won’t ever completely fade. I’m not an overly confident a-hole. Never have been. I can pretend, but it’s a big ‘ole facade. The self-doubt is there. I manage by stuffing a sock into its mouth, taping its hands together if I must, and telling it to turn around and face the corner while I go out into the world and live my life anyway.

I’ll watch the waves crash in and feel intimidated by their power. At times, those waves of self-doubt will sweep me away, but I know I can swim back to the shore and set foot on dry land again.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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