"I Suck at Writing"

Says Ego

Photo by Phil Hearing on Unsplash

I don’t claim to be a great writer. Or even a good one.
I don’t claim to have worthy advice on social media wizardry. Or content monetizing.
I’m a seeker.

With kicks and starts that feel more like stops and falls.
I’ll never give up. I remember too much.

These days I’m not sure what I’m doing here. On this platform. At least that’s what my Ego is battling me to buy into. But as crappy as things might feel, my heart always keeps winning out.

I’m not a survivor.
I’m a wanderer with a compass that points inward.

And this platform is in my face these days. Trying to be a tool for the Ego to shoot me down and crush me. But I know my true self is hiding in the doubt. Hiding in the feeling like the odd man out. Again.

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The Contract I Can’t Escape

If I don’t face it here and allow it to unravel, it will pop up somewhere else. Like whac-a-mole. Because I made a contract to grow. Expand. Wake up. My soul’s work. My calling that won’t rest.

I’m pretty sure the contract said, reach Enlightenment. But I’m not sure about that last bargain. Is that possible for someone like me? Is it in my cards? Am I dreaming a dream that isn’t mine?

I don’t think so. God isn’t a cruel God. She’s a loving God. And she wouldn’t fill my vision with something unattainable.

The doubt is a deep programming that’s been there for eternity. Maybe carried over from another lifetime. Definitely collective. The wound that keeps bleeding. Trying to drag me down and convince me to quit. Turn in my uniform and crawl back to my little hole.

But I won’t do it.
I’m staying in the game this time until the game changes. Until my struggle on a social media platform dissolves. Until I feel authentically strong.

FB and X did me in. But Substack is different. Welcoming. Embracing. Full of kindreds. Searching. Seeking. Bravely going where no woman or man has gone before.

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Pen Names and Permission Slips

I even thought about changing my name. A pen name to hide behind and write whatever the F*ck I want. Spill it all out. The guts and eye balls and poop.

I have hundreds to choose from. Tessalon Pearls. Sidney Rachel Montechello. The latest is Christina Wellington. Apparently, I have Royal Wellington in my blood. My nephew has the family seal boldly tattooed on his back. So I’m telling you these in case I chicken out. Now you’ll know if you see me hiding, spouting profanities, and trying to sound polished. You can call me out.

It’s just another platform to learn and grow. To finally step into my power.

So I’m toughing it out. Digging for self. Out loud. Embarrassed. Hesitant. Holding back. Experimenting until I find the voice that really feels like me. Like what I am here to share. Maybe to inspire. Maybe as a channel for abundance from the Source to come through.

Definitely to connect. To the Self in me and the Self in you.

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Family as the Ultimate Teacher

I have a kid who’s a bit hard to raise. Demanding. Rude. Likely neurodivergent. And a mother who is deep in a victim identity. Feels uncomfortably familiar.

I was hoping the kids would have a grandma like I had. Sitting on the porch with me, shelling butter beans and snapping green beans. Laughing at me playing with the loose skin on the back of her hand to see how long it would stay pinched up. Who knew I’d use that as a nursing assessment one day?

Our kids are the center of my world. I love being a mother and providing for them. It’s a joy, not a sacrifice. And I trained them up (so far) to be spoiled. If your kids are little, train them young. I suspect it’s much easier to accept the mess and imperfection of tiny, unskilled, eager hands than to battle with the phone-bearing teen and preteen.

But I don’t abandon our kids because parenting is hard.
And I don’t abandon my mother even though she drives me bat shit crazy.

I know these are the very relationships that spark and jostle and prod my waking up wider and wider more than anything. The people I didn’t consciously choose. I mean, I chose to be a mother. But we can’t define the personality or profile of the kid we get. Although we are the environment that helps shape them. The beauty and the beast.

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Surrender Without Quitting

So I’m not abandoning myself this time.
I’m not throwing in the white flag. I’ll surrender, but not in a giving-up kind of way. Rather in an opening-up kind of way.

Maybe I’ll be a better writer as things unfold. I’m listening to Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. Such a good, entertaining, smart, witty, funny, draw-you-in-story-book. Maybe I’ll finally get out of my own way and abundance from the Source will shower down. And we’ll finally have the money to pay for all the projects we have on the back burner.

Either way, I plan to keep digging for content in my everyday. It’s the natural byproduct of seeking. Of living. Alanis Morissette says it so well, “And though I know who I’m not, I still don’t know who I am.”

I know this. My current day experience of life is not Enlightenment.
My life is sweet. And comfortable. And scrappy. And safe. And filled with family and friends who I know are doing their best, just like me, to love as much as we know about love at this point.

I know God’s love is profound. Radiating. Awe-inspiring. Others have tapped into it. I know I can too. And I can’t wait to know you there.

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Wishing us Enlightenment this go round.
And a path where the pain pales in comparison to pleasure.

💚✨
Dancing on the Edge of Enlightened
—Edge Dancer - Connie