Countering the Self-Doubt That Creeps In

This morning I got outside and into the garden extra early. I've been feeling unsettled and uncertain. I needed to get my bare feet and my fingertips into the dirt. To connect with the earth. To get grounded. The winds picked up. They swirled around and filled my lungs. The rains were beginning to come. I could smell the earthy, distinctive odor of petrichor. Everything felt good. That was where I needed to be.

"The early morning is holy." —Anne Lamott, Somehow, pages 41-42

The uncertain feelings have been stronger recently. Unfortunately they're not new to me. They're a familiar feeling. The self-sabotage. The feelings of incompetence. What is the self-doubt that creeps in and holds me back?

I've heard it called "the bondage of self." Where does it come from? Why can it so easily take over?

Recently I read Chatter by Ethan Kross where he writes,

"When the inner voice runs amok and chatter takes the mental microphone, our mind not only torments but paralyzes us." —page xxii

The inner doubts prevent me from attempting things I know could enrich my life—help me grow and become a better person.

When I have a particularly strong aspiration to try something new and adventurous, I envision it and watch it play out in my head. I know it's completely doable. I'm fully capable. I even think to myself, I'm so doing this!

It doesn't take long before the doubts creep in. They tell me I can't. I'm incapable. It'll be too hard. The efforts outweigh the rewards. I'll likely fail. I won't be seen as the capable and self-sufficient person I think myself to be.

I've lived a full life. Acclimated to a variety of communities and locations. Raised three kids. Put max effort into owning a business. Accomplished some hard stuff. Survived some crises. Still, I wouldn't consider myself especially adventuresome. I tend toward the safe. The safe is more controllable.

I was speaking with a friend about some things I want to try that are more adventurous. She looked me straight in the eyes and very directly asked, "Why don't you?" My immediate response was that I stop myself from making them happen. Nearly as soon as I consider them, I've already told myself they're impossible for me and my brain has shut them down. She affirmed she has full confidence in my abilities and I should follow through with my ideas.

But the doubts prevail. Author Anne Lamott writes,

"I have an inner critic whose job is to keep me small and worried." —Somehow, page 36

Sometimes other people express their disbelief in a new adventure I'm considering. If I wasn't doubting myself prior, their skepticism creeps in and becomes my own. They suggest that I can't. I shouldn't. It's unsafe. It's unwise. Why do I so easily absorb another's doubts?

"When you decide to take a new path . . . from most everyone around you, you will find that a lot of people will encourage you not to. . . . Most people can see only as far for you as they see for themselves. . . . They can’t fathom doing it themselves." —Cait Flanders, Adventures in Opting Out, page 58

I'm not sure which frustrates me more—my own doubts or those placed upon me. Whether they have internal or external roots, it's my responsibility to remind myself what's true and choose carefully who, and what, I let speak into my life.

Maybe the doubts will bear out. I might discover that the adventure I thought I wanted to experience wasn't the right one to try. It might turn out too risky and uncontrollable. But would it matter if I have to admit defeat?

Could it be that I need more failing, less controlling? Isn't it in the trying, the failing, the trying again where the gains outweigh the losses?

The self-doubts are another subject on the list of things for which I don't have all the answers. My hope is that, as fellow humans, more often than not we'll cheer each other on, dispel the doubts, and encourage the dreams.

It helps when I spend my early mornings outdoors observing. The open space offers room to discover and speak kinder truths to the doubts. The winds envelop and overcome the negative chatter. The earth under my feet grounds and settles. The cacophony of birdsong recalibrates my thinking so I'm better able to consider new possibilities and dream bigger dreams. The full-spectrum, rich light highlights a path toward more imagining, more exploring.