If you’ve read any of my books then you probably know that I like my heroines to be strong…not strong as in muscular and badass–although I like that too–but strong as in resilient, strong as in character…emotionally strong. They might not all start out that way but my goal is always, always, for them to end up having passed through the fire to become stronger than they were before.
You may think that since I write these amazing women who face their struggles head-on that I am also a person like that. You may think I am a person who doesn’t let the crap of life stick to me.
You’d be wrong.
I wish I was as emotionally resilient as my heroines. I write them like that because it’s who I want to be as a person…it’s who I want to end up as at the end of my story.
I’m going to let you in on a little secret…I suffer from crippling anxiety.
Not only that, but I’m an introvert that falls on the extremely shy side of the scale.
Shy introvert with social anxiety…not a great combination for an author, especially an indie author who is responsible for her own marketing and promotion.
This may be a strange thing to write about today. It’s release day for my latest book and you probably think I’m off celebrating somewhere, drinking a gin and soda with lime (my drink of choice) and stuffing my face with chocolate. I’m not. Before writing this post I was curled up in my bed thinking that I should probably give this whole writing gig away because there’s no way I’ll ever be any good at it.
Right now, as I write this, my heart is pounding, my hands are shaking and my blood pressure is probably through the roof.
The trouble with anxiety is that it’s not always apparent that someone suffers from it. I have learned to hide it. I have learned to self-talk my way out of a full-blown anxiety attack…sometimes. The trick is to catch it before it’s gone too far. Sometimes, it sneaks up on me like a ninja and before I know it I’m a trembling mess rolled up in the fetal position.
A few years ago, we had a family tragedy and my anxiety was at its most potent. There were days when I couldn’t get out of bed. There were days when I couldn’t control the shaking in my hands and legs. The physical manifestations of anxiety only increase the anxiety because you are so embarrassed and ashamed by it. Thankfully, as I’ve journeyed through my grief, my anxiety has been more manageable.
I have triggers and I mostly know what those triggers are, but sometimes completely unrelated things can trigger me and I don’t know what hit me. It is also true that sometimes my triggers don’t trigger at all.
Take this book release for instance. I love this book. I struggled writing it because of some of the background political stuff, but all in all, this book flowed out of me like a fountain. I love the two main characters and I really enjoyed getting to know them. I’m excited for people to read it but…
Yep. Anxiety attack. And it didn’t just start today. I have had anxiety issues over this book since I sent it to my editor. I had to deep breathe my way through editing it. When I put it up for pre-order I felt like running away and never coming back.
When I released my last book…no anxiety attack. And I loved that book as much as I love this book.
I know releasing a book is one of my triggers. I usually have a slight murmur of nerves at the very least, but this time it is exponentially worse. This time I’m seriously considering my career as a writer. Right at this moment I fear that people are sharpening their pencils ready to eviscerate me in their reviews. Right now I’m waiting for the big, all-seeing eye to tell me that I am not and will never be a writer. I’m waiting for someone to tell me I’m a big, fat fake. A no-talent hack. A disgrace to all in the writing community.
I hate that.
I hate that my own brain and body gang up on me this way. I hate that my over-active imagination and penchant for over-analysing every little detail ruins what should be an exciting day.
So why am I telling you all this? Why not just keep it a secret?
Because I know I’m not the only one who suffers this way and I want to encourage other people who struggle with anxiety. Shining a light on it weakens it somehow. I can’t really explain it except to say that when you let it go around and around inside your own head, it gains momentum and strength. When you talk about it, when you drag it out into the harsh daylight, it withers. It loses its hold on you.
Why not curl up in a ball and forget about putting myself out there. Why invite the anxiety in?
The simple answer is because I don’t want it to define me. I want to be like the heroines I write about. I want to face my fears and triumph over them. Being a writer isn’t just something I do, it’s who I am.
So I will keep writing even when part of my brain tells me I shouldn’t. I’ll keep writing even when it feels like I’m a failure. I’ll keep writing through this because one day I hope to be worthy of the heroines I write. One day I hope to be able to stand on the other side of the fire and say, “I did it even when I didn’t think I could.”