‘Tis the season for many things, including Pushcart and Best of the Net nominations. I have been very happy for my online writer friends if they have been so fortunate to have their poem nominated. But it’s also highlighted that my poetry hasn’t been nominated, and hands up if like me you suffer with impostor syndrome.
2018 has been a slog of a year. I have been sick with anxiety and depression for a decade and I have no idea who I am, and where I’m going. I have been writing this year. I have had my poems published in some wonderful zines and journals, and I actually started to write a new chapbook the other day. But.
But I still feel I haven’t achieved as much as I would like, and that’s because I haven’t put the work in. If we put it into footballing terms I would be down in a relegation position right now. It’s tough watching other writers have their poems published, have their books published, (while also championing them, because I like to be happy for people.) I’m sure a lot of writers I know have no idea where their going, but to me it looks like they do.
I mourn my lack of education too. Some discussions I just can’t join in with because I don’t have a clue what everyone is talking about. I don’t want to be thought of as an idiot! Depression and anxiety have cut short my education. Depression and anxiety have also made me incredibly isolated and afraid of people. I don’t think I’m going to win this war.
Anyway, if you’re struggling too know it’s ok to have a wobble, and you’re still a badass and you’ve got this.