The toxic thought
“This whole thing is a stupid waste of time.”
“What?”’
“Nothing. Just don’t burn your fingers, Dr. Taylor.”
The other day, I was sitting here typing along, exactly as I’m doing right now, when I started to think that what I was writing wasn’t any good.
Earlier that day, I had heard someone say that daily content tends to be shallower than that which is less frequent. I wondered, “Is that the impression that I’m giving?” And now here I was, allowing myself to think that toxic thought: Maybe this is all crap.
Experiencing that poisonous thought was like standing behind a safety railing and imagining a long, deadly fall over the side. It was a glimpse into a world I don’t want to live in. It was a little dangerous.
Even as I write this, I am leaning further over the edge to put mean words in your mouth: “Uh, does she not know that puts out crap regularly? Does she think everything she writes is great? She’s insufferable.”
But if I want to make things and share them, I have to be more compassionate (and see you as compassionate). I have to silence those unhelpful voices and tune into the one where the words come from. That voice is trying to solve the puzzle of how to express an idea, and it doesn’t care whether the work is good or bad. It just wants to create.
In fact, my truest self knows that there is no objective measure of good or bad. And when it comes to a piece in progress, these assessments are irrelevant. If I start out with something that I think isn’t very good, it’s simply underdeveloped. I can keep finessing and shaping it until I’m satisfied with it. I don’t have to go from “Maybe this post isn’t very good” to “Maybe none of my work is any good” to “My entire life is a lie.” Boy, does that journey happen fast, and it is not a very fun ride. I do whatever I can to slow it down.
Sometimes, that toxic thought feels like the more responsible, reasonable one. “Hey,” it says. “You wanted feedback, here’s feedback. I’m just trying to be helpful and save you pain down the line.” But it’s as unwelcome as herpes, and I don’t owe it anything. It’s not generous or helpful. It’s cruel and paralytic.
The most important thing I have to say about the toxic thought — other than noticing it and naming it in the first place — is that there is life without it. Having that thought appear was, ironically, a reminder of how seldom it shows up for me when I’m writing. With practice, I’ve increased the time I spend feeling good about creating and decreased the frequency of destructive, miserable thoughts and stories.
I don’t have to beat myself up for having the toxic thought, and neither do you. You don’t have to take it very seriously. You can simply switch to a different thought, a more helpful, kind one, which you can say out loud if you want. You can leap up on a table and start singing the chorus to “The Bitch Is Back.” Whatever works, honestly. It gets easier the more time you spend in that realm that no malevolent spirit can enter.
In the end, no one piece of writing or other creative attempt can define me. Sure, some of the stuff I make isn’t going to be that memorable, and people may not like it. But it’s not my job to think about that when I’m in the middle of trying to create it. All I need to do is keep going, however I can. That toxic thought can’t stop me.
