I woke up last Wednesday morning to two new sign-ups for my program, Writing Your Way Through. I was incredibly excited, of course — but almost immediately, I began to feel anxious too.
“This is too much,” I thought — too many eyeballs on my work, too many people who might judge me, too much attention and responsibility . . . and too much to hold.
The anxiety continued to swirl in my stomach as I took Hazel out. As we walked, I tried to parse through the thoughts racing through my mind: Yes, it feels like too much and also, somehow . . . not enough?
I still hadn’t reached the number of spots I’d hoped to sell. I still found myself wondering how I’d continue to make money after the program started. I still wondered if my sales were a “success” compared to the numbers I’d seen from other online creators.
It’s too much. It’s not enough.
That old, familiar tension that can’t help but keep good things at bay.
And I would know. This wasn’t the first time I’d told myself that story.
I’d actually uncovered it as I was journaling just a few weeks ago; I realized I’d been saying this to myself since I was a kid: “You are too much. You are not enough.”
Not consciously, of course, but in that sticky, under-the-surface way that we hold onto stories we came up with as kids.
You were too outspoken at that job.
You were too emotional for that boyfriend.
You were altogether too much for the dad who didn’t stick around.
And at the same time, somehow, never enough: Never easy enough, never successful enough, never cool or talented or rich enough either.
How is that possible? How can one be both? And how could someone somehow exist in the space in between?
I didn’t really know; I just know I tried.
I tried to temper my personality — my very existence — to be palatable to every one, in every situation.
I’ve written before about my tendency to do this — and several years ago (during my Saturn Return, natch), I found myself furious when it didn’t work; when I ended up not only disconnected from so many people around me, but also completely disconnected from myself.
There were elements of truth to what I told myself as a kid, of course, but I continued to cling tight to that story as I got older . . . even as the story was no longer really true.
I pushed away people and opportunities and projects and my own inner peace because of the tension — the tight walk I tried to balance on — between too much and not enough.
I was trying to protect myself, I know that now, but not realizing how I might actually be holding myself back; how I might actually be resisting everything I wanted — to feel fully expressed, to have relationships that felt vulnerable and authentic, to do work that excited and challenged me — by claiming I wanted more, then pushing it away when it felt like too much.
The last couple of months — the last year, really — has been a consistent stretch for me; stretching into new ways of working, of sharing and being seen, of earning and holding and trusting money, of strengthening my relationships, including (perhaps especially) the one I have with myself.
And maybe because of that — even though I’ve been intentionally working on cultivating self-love and allowing my self-expression for some time — I’ve felt the siren song of that story stronger than ever before:
This is too much. This is not enough.
But now, I can see it clearly when it pops up. And now, I know it’s not true.
Now I know I can hold all of it — all of the change, all of the hard shit, all of the goodness, all of myself.
And now, I know that it’s all exactly enough.
There’s still time to sign up for Writing Your Way Through, my four-week program to help you find inner clarity through creative self-expression! (This program includes all of the practices and tools I use to show up and share these essays every week.)
We start tomorrow and I’d love to have you join us ❤️