Standing on the precipice of possibility, here’s my reading of “Doubt.”
Moving through this phase in my life has been quite interesting. While the connections I’ve made here have been uplifting, I’m going through it a bit. I know I’ve been quiet on that front.
What can I say? It’s still hard at times to truly open up, even now. Even here.
But I’m trying.
Life has picked up in pace—between starting grad school, preparing for the publication of my first zine, and doggedly pushing forward with other projects.
Much of my energy has gone into fully describing the arc of my collection. The first volume is called The Pressure, as in what I felt living in the pressure cooker that led to my eventual collapse.
It’s funny, but writing about the hard stuff—trauma, loss, grief, diminishment, isolation, loss of self—is both healing and exhausting. No amount of therapy will ever make some of the things I’ve experienced “OK.” Spending time in those places takes a lot of energy.
Still, I believe it’s vital work. There is more to come this Friday.
I’m at an intersection of possibility. The pull to continue writing feels stronger than ever. At the same time, I’m finally stepping fully into the professional path I’ve dreamed about. I want to do both with my full heart. I know I have so much yet to give.
In the spirit of clearing the air and naming the beast clinging to my back…
This poem is one I wrote shortly after moving my work over to Substack, after struggling to spark interest and connect on another platform. I was still very new here, still finding my footing.
Truthfully, I sometimes still feel this way.
Doubt
Sometimes I wonder
If I’ll ever make a dent
If anyone will listen
Before my spirit’s spent
Am I just spiraling
Buzzing to and fro?
Do my words matter?
Will I ever know?
I try to be patient
Chase away the noise
So I can hear clearly
And further tune my voice
I seem to be shouting
Into an endless void
No one answers back
I fear they’re annoyed
That I’m marked by
The traumas I’ve endured
Someone who should quiet
Not worth being heard
It feels so isolating
Painted in my corner
Maybe I should stop
Search for some place warmer
These thoughts tangle up
Leave me feeling breathless
The tears flow hot and fast
Leaving me no respite
So I write it down
To picture my flaws
Wrestling with my doubts
To better feel my cause
I’m not giving up
Won’t lock away my muse
Even if no one listens
This, I will still choose
—Liora
Read next → Sludge
Do you wrestle with self-doubt? What helps you keep creating, speaking, or showing up anyway? Drop a thought below—I’d love to know.
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Sometimes I find that speaking (or writing) into the void releases the tangle in my brain; even if no one reads my words, they are better out than in.
I completely understand the feelings of self-doubt you mention, I often feel similar.
I'm happy you're here and writing though. 😊