Getting My Confidence Back

When I was a kid, I was shameless. I wasn’t scared of writing; on the contrary, I enjoyed it a lot. I remember I liked writing poems and fables. I do not know why I thought I was wise enough for giving people advice if I was 7 years old. But again, I was shameless. I walked the risky way without caring about the consequences.

Photo by fotografierende on Unsplash

I was so uninterested in what others could say that I also participated in some writing contests. Although I never won anything, I kept trying. Now, I think I was unsuccessful not only because my poems and fables weren’t good enough but because those were adult competitions. Yes, those competitions were not meant for children. I was that blatant; I sent my writings to adult writing competitions, and I never doubted it.

Like that, time passed, fables passed, and I met Edgard Allan Poe. I was 9, and I started writing short stories about murders, alcoholics, and scary animals that hunt people at night. I loved it (My teachers not so much.) I had found a passion for something that I had not experienced much but felt deeply known: the darkest side of human nature and life itself. Along with Poe, Cthulhu reached my door, and it welcomed me in its universe. I was immersed in literature and writing.

Up to this point, I enjoyed exploring my imagination and pour it into a piece of paper. I was 11, and writing helped me cope with the adverse situations I was experiencing. I would have never expected what happened next. I do not know how or when, but there was a moment in which I stopped writing. Forever. All the ideas and fantasies I had were gone. I started placing my focus on other things such as belonging. I was the new kid in the school. I did not know how to make friends, and my interests were not appealing to my classmates. I remember this time of my life as the one in which I not only lost my appetite for writing but my unapologetic nature.

From that point on, I never wrote again, and every year I became less willing to try things outside my comfort zone. Even if at 13 I contacted a famous choir to come to my country (and they thought I was someone with the power to actually bring them here), that was the last time I tried something like that. Year by year, I was losing my shamelessness. I was unable to talk to people or do things that scared me. I was consumed by cowardice.

After those years, there were many instances in which I had to write. I was studying at school and then at university, and I just could not afford not to write. However, those weren’t pleasurable experiences. I experienced anxiety and started binge eating every time I had an assignment. It was like if writing was a mirror; it showed me who I had become. Every time I wrote, I had to face I wasn’t the confident person I used to be.

That’s why I thought I would never write again. I couldn’t deal with the opportunities lost and the “what would have happened if… “. Getting out of my cave and showing who I was and my work to the public was frightening. However, I know it’s time to accept that part of myself. I’m coming back to the beginning; I want to recover the joy I got when writing. Even if I wasn’t the best of writers back then, and I doubt I will become one any time soon, I am taking another step towards being who I used to be: a bold person.
Even if I have done more things to accomplish this task before. (I solo traveled 15 countries in less than 6 months) I think writing is crucial because I’m showing the world not just my creativity but also who I really am.

I wonder if this is something that just has happened to me. Has something like this happened to you? Is your behavior now similar to the one when you were a child? If not, what made you change?



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Lifelong learner. I write about things I learn both from life and disciplines of knowledge.