I was recently approached by an editor asking me to submit a story. She thought her readers would be interested in what I had to say. Today my oldest is in school (I miss her) and my husband is off work, running errands with the other littles. I’m alone in this quiet house, sitting in front of the computer, coffee in hand and instead of writing the piece, I check Facebook, chat with a fellow mom from school, check email, download pictures, visit a few blog pages for inspiration and wonder if I should mop the floor while everyone is gone.
Get it done girl! This is your chance to take advantage of peace and quiet. But I’m terrified, to put it mildly. What if I suck? What if they laugh at what I submit? Who cares what I have to say? I don’t sound academic enough. The discouraging voice in my head goes on and on, spewing negative words, causing me to doubt myself at every turn.
So this post stands as my motivation. I’m going to finish the work, forcing myself to do what is uncomfortable and uneasy. I think of my daughter, so nervous about her first day of school today. She cried, she didn’t want to go, she wanted to stay home where it is safe and predictable. Today I will stand in solidarity with her, stepping out of the safe and predictable, off to my first day of school, looking over my shoulder with tears in my eyes, but when I walk in that building baby, I hold my head up high. It’s a new day. Let’s do this.