For most of my life, I've been a people pleaser.
I wish I could say that wasn't true, but it is. I care deeply about making other people happy. I want people to like me. I want them to approve of my choices. I want them to tell me I'm doing a good job. Sometimes I seek validation so often that I don't even trust my own judgment until someone else confirms it for me.
I've done it with writing. I've done it with roleplay. I've done it with creative projects. I've done it with life.
When I read writers I consider incredible, I don't just admire them I compare myself to them. I look at their talent, their stories, their ability to captivate readers, and instead of being inspired, I start measuring myself against them. The problem is that I've built these people into larger-than-life legends in my head. Of course I can't live up to that impossible standard.
So what do I do?
I quit.
I abandon projects. I scrap ideas. I convince myself that if I can't be as good as them, there's no point in trying at all.
The truth is that comparison has stolen more joy from me than failure ever has. Social comparison is a normal human phenomenon. I know that. Frak, I read the original work of Leon Festinger for my dissertation. I know that humans need comparison to form social groups and survive, but knowing how it works and being able to stop its negative influences are two very different things.
When I quit and abandon ideas, I leave people hanging. It's frustrating to them. They love this hobby just as much as I do, and it's understandable they would be upset when a writer continuously bails on projects.
The thing is, I don't just flake because of social comparison. Sometimes I flake because of bullying and being too sensitive.
I've been scolded over having alts. I've been criticized over dropped storylines. I've had people act like I've committed some unforgivable sin when, honestly, these things are staples of this hobby. Everyone has alts. Everyone drops stories sometimes. Everyone loses inspiration. Everyone changes direction. So why am I beating myself up over doing the same thing others do?
It's because of social comparison and valuing the naysayers more than the people who want to help me. It's because I'm trying to please everyone, when I should be ignoring the salt. I'm not talking about the good people who try to help me, give me constructive feedback and help me be better. I'm talking about the people who constantly try to tear me down. Maybe they don't even realize they are doing it. Maybe it's me and I'm just way too sensitive to the comments. The point is why should I let their comments matter more than the people who actually want to help me? In trying to please everyone I've ended up hurting really good people who get frustrated by my flakiness.
I've deleted characters because of rude comments. I've abandoned ideas I loved because someone mocked them. I've built factions and poured my heart into them only to receive so much criticism that I ended up crying and scrapping the entire concept. I even stopped posting and deleted my previous blogs like these because a few people got salty about them.
Looking back, that's heartbreaking.
Not because people criticized me. Criticism happens, and in fact the people who offer it constructively are people I value highly. It's heartbreaking because I handed strangers the power to decide what I was allowed to create, and in doing that I hurt innocent people who only wanted to write with me. The people tearing me down weren't carrying my stories. They weren't fueling my creativity. They weren't sitting awake at night dreaming up characters and plots and worlds.
I was, and yet somehow I treated their opinions like they mattered more than my own, and unfortunately more than the opinions of the people who were truly trying to be my friends. I'm starting to realize that the people who genuinely care about me aren't the ones looking for reasons to tear me apart. They're the ones building me up. They're the ones encouraging me to keep going. They're the ones who see my excitement and want to nurture it instead of crush it. They are the ones who realize I'm a little durp, a little flaky, and little spaz, and a little silly but love me anyway.
Maybe it's time I start listening to those people instead. Maybe it's time I grow a thicker skin. Maybe it's time I adopt a new policy: a don't-give-a-frak policy.
Not in the sense that I stop caring about people. Never in that sense. Not in the sense that I become cruel or dismissive. I just need to stop giving so much power to people who haven't earned it. I need to write the stories I want to write. I need to chase the ideas that excite me. I need to follow my muse wherever it wants to go, even if it doesn't make sense to anyone else. I need to create in a way that means something to me.
If that means some people don't like my characters? Fine.
If that means some people think my stories are stupid? Fine.
If that means some people call me names? Fine.
They're entitled to their opinions, but they don't get to decide who I am. They don't get to decide what I create, and they certainly don't get to decide whether I keep going. The people worth keeping in my life are the ones who encourage me to be myself, not the ones demanding I become someone else.
So here's to creating without apology. Here's to taking risks. Here's to making mistakes. Here's to writing badly, writing boldly, writing differently, and writing anyway. Most importantly, here's to finally valuing my stories enough to write them the way I want, and valuing my true friends enough not to abandon the magic we make together.
