Thick-Skinned Scaredy-Cat
Last night, trimming my goblin-child's claws, he saw a scratch on my wrist (not from him, but from our silver tabby: Geralt, the Butcher of Blavikitten) and he (my kid, not Geralt) asked me if it would always be there. I laughed and told him yes, probably, it would scar. I laughed because it's really not a big scratch. There's no reason for him to think it will always be there. But by now he has noticed that bruises and scratches stick around on me for a very long time. My body heals ever-so-slowly, and even simple cat scratches inevitably scar.
But I also find it funny because I know myself to have very "thick" skin. It strikes me as odd that my physical body should be so sensitive to injury, when my mental/emotional being is not. I'm not afraid of people not liking my work - after all, I doubt they could find more fault in it than I. And I'm not afraid of people criticizing my writing. I'm not sure how I, someone who falls apart during even the most vaguely sentimental commercials, am also simultaneously impervious to harsh words directed at me or my work, but I suspect there's something daunting lurking in my childhood memories and experiences that could explain it. In any case, we're not going there. Not today.
I bring it up because I can feel myself being held back…by myself. I've been reluctant to share my new writing.
But if it's not for fear of a negative reception, then what is it?
Fear of no reaction at all? Fear of a positive response?
Maybe it's because there's a part of me that thinks it's not quite right. Or, perhaps, once it's posted and shared, I won't be able to bring myself to write anything else? If I hold on to the piece forever, then there will always be something new to share, whether I get around to sharing it or not. How's that for some mental gymnastics? 10s across the board for the thick skinned woman covered in scars!
While I'm annoyed that I’m scared to do something I've done time and time again, at the very least I've begun to develop a reliable ritual for getting through it.
When it's too difficult to talk the inside-self into being brave, I start with the outside-self. It's easier to put on an outfit that makes me happy than it is to re-program my beliefs. It's faster to put on a perfume that makes me feel powerful. Most of my necklaces are crystals, and wearing a sizeable hunk of quartz helps me feel magical and strong at the same time. I clean my glasses, so that I can "see clearly." I brush my hair to remove snarls from my thoughts. I make a cup of decaf or tea in my favorite mug so that I love the world more (you know, the warm drink trick!).
And by the time I've done all these things to my outer self, my inner being is nodding and rolling their eyes and going: Yeah, yeah, ok. We're not such a dirt grub. We clean up nicely, we make cool things, we're strong, we really do like ourselves and others. Sure. Whatever. Let's do this.
It's a little like dressing for the job you want, not the job you have. Or standing in a superman pose before an interview.
And now that the fearful voice is drowned out: I'd love it if you gave my short story a read. You can find it here, on Substack, where you can subscribe for free if you want to see more stories, poetry, and more dreamscapes - Yes, I'll be sharing the dreamscapes on there that I wrote as a result of the last newsletter!
Oh, and also, I have some new artwork up in the shop.
