Silencing the Critics

I have a tremendous love-hate relationship with sharing my writing. I love to write for cathartic reasons. I love the discourse some of what I have shared brings. The odd “attaboy” that comes my way inflates the ego. And yet I hate to shill myself, my “art”, on social media; which to my knowledge seems to be the only way to share my thoughts, photos and stories.

There is a strange duality at play here. The love of attention and the disgust I have with myself for shilling my old song and dance on the internet, cane a swingin, my straw boater perched jauntily atop my head as I heel click off stage left.

I feel better when I’m able to express myself and be seen or heard, as anyone would. But, there's more to it than that. I want to silence the critics.

I remember being dumb. No, no, hear me out, don’t placate me. I don’t say this for sympathy or a pat on the back. “You just weren’t applying yourself,” spare me. Facts are facts. I can vividly remember being in my early to mid-twenties and not having thoughts.

No opinions or current events. No ability for critical thinking. When asked about measurements on the job site I would reply with anger and intimidation hoping I could mask my ineffectiveness. I hadn’t learnt how to have conversations or articulate my emotions and I could feel all of this weighing on me, without an outlet or reprieve.

I wanted the respect of those I looked up to. I wanted opportunities and trust I thought myself worthy of, knowing full well I wouldn’t get it as a dummy. So, I endeavoured to change myself. I read more, stretching the breadth of my areas of interest. Played mind games on the computer while tucked away in hotels on month-long welding turns. A bottle of Jameson and an eight-pack of Luck Dogs beside me on the scratchy duvet, I was determined to to affect whatever change I could.

All these years later, with a relatively new (seven years or so) sense of self, I’m still here, trying to silence the critics. Where and who these critics are I have no idea. There is a voice inside me that tells me there are people OUT THERE that hold me in low regard and I have to prove them wrong.

I know these critics reside solely in my head. There is no one out there talking shit, or even thinking about me for that matter and by giving voice to the knowledge that my critics lie within I hope to take the power away from them. 

The only thing is, these voiceless faceless critics give me drive. Although nonexistent, I must prove “them” wrong. I have to succeed so I can show “them” I have grown. This is where it gets tricky.

Success will look like what exactly? I will have a multitude of adoring fans? Immense wealth? I will prove “them” wrong by becoming a writer! Having my work published! I will write and do my cane-swinging, heel-clicking dance on social media until I get X amount of likes, shares and follows.

Then the haters will see what’s good.

And I’ll hate myself for doing it.

I’m not sure exactly where all this comes from. Possibly nature. Possibly nurture. I feel as though some of this desire to shut down a non-existent hostile narrative while pleading for my flowers is born from the culture within skateboarding. At least the culture from the era I was so heavily involved.

An egocentric sport where passion can be turned into profit and one's worth is based more on the cultural currency of cool as opposed to skill. In both of which my funds were chronically insufficient.

I feel as though my brain has been wired to seek profit from passion; ie. If I’m good enough at this I should get paid for it and with that should come praise *read validation. And in seeking that validation I will lose the catharsis of my creations.

Or not, I don’t know.

Clearly, I struggle for ways to share what I create in a way that resonates with me. I have recently been encouraged by a couple of people to be more consistent with my blog and have received some new followers on Substack, even though I have not posted on that platform in one year and eight days.

If any of this sounds familiar to you, please let me know. I’d love to hear how anyone deals with this or if they simply can’t cope. Are “News Letters” still a thing? I’m starting to ruminate on the second edition of the Boring Glory Journal, a much more analogue and resonant form of sharing my creations.