Finding Myself.

I have been struggling the last 3 weeks or so maybe more...I don't know with any type of writing at all, whether it be a small blog post or some area within my book. There has been a lot of stress in my life lately, with work, with my husbands mental health and with mine. What I struggle with, with myself is my lack of self worth, and with that I convince myself in some way that my book is not worth writing. Although I have a series of people that are excited and proud of me even that I am doing this, I can't help but to ask myself why? Why are people that I care about and clearly care about me excited and proud of me to be writing my story? I have said in a previous post how I don't find my transplant story specifically to be that interesting. One transplant, I bump in the road and almost smooth sailing since? What's exciting about that? My story is my own. I know that it is interesting, I know that there a parts of this story that will make a reader wide eyed and jaw dropped just as it does telling the story to anyone.

It's just like I feel underserving of this literal gift that has been given to me. Not to many people are going to have this chance of here, allow me to help you write this book fall in to their laps. Clearly, this person thinks that my story is worth writing. I had met this person, on a whim, post my best friends wedding and got swapping stories. This is clearly a "meant to be" scenario. How could it not be?

But yet I have this monster in my brain telling me it's not worth it. It tells me that I am a shit writer, and this process of writing is going to be hard, and the editors are going to take one look at this book and ask themselves what kind of garbage is this? This is a waste of time."

I am also aware that this is a hiccup. As I am writing this, it's been a day, a week, a month. My mind, emotions and thoughts are running rampant and I can't keep any of them in a linear path. I thought some time away would help me sit down and do some writing. You know? I change of scenery I thought would have helped me mentally. I thought perhaps it would give me some clarity to write being somewhere else, but I only found that I was too stressed out and anxious to be doing anything at all. That was bust. So here I am at home finally doing something. Writing something. This and a few chapters of my book.

I just want to be okay. I want us all to be okay. I know it will get better, but it just feels like its 2 step forward, one step back a lot in recent years. I am working on getting a new family doctor, who can hopefully get me some mental help. So between book writing and HOPEFULLY starting a new chapter on helping myself, let hope the rest of 2024 is looking brighter.

Here's to another blog post that's all over the fucking place. Just like my brain.

Good Night.

Ashley/Bitch I lived