Rewriting insecure voices, self-doubt, and the cost of just going for it

How do you make fear your friend when self-doubt keeps puncturing your thoughts like pins to a balloon?

Insecure voices are something I have plenty of experience with.

The ones that kept me on the “straight and narrow” for over a decade, watching my job titles, salary, and ego tick upward. 

The ones that kept me small every time the idea of “maybeee writing a book could be fun and fill some of this sad dusty hole that keeps growing inside?” would pop up in my head, only to be tampered with “Bish, you wrote 1.5 pieces for Medium like a decade ago. You’re not an author.” 

The ones that would pop up to ask me what business I had quitting my job when I’d recently gotten married, taken on a new mortgage in one of the country’s most expensive states, and didn’t have another job lined up nor an exit strategy. 

The ones that told me how irrational I was being, screaming RED FLAG RED FLAG.

Fear has many purposes.

In its most basic form, fear can protect us from making stupid decisions, like touching a blazing fire or approaching a bear on a wayward hike. (Does this happen often? IDK! It’s the first example that popped into my head.) 

But fear can also prevent us from letting in good things. It can hold us back from trying a new place, skill, or interest because we’re afraid of looking strange, stupid, or naive. It can prevent us from seeing signals telling us that the way we’re currently living no longer serves us. 

It can block us from going after what is truly meant for us. It can keep us small.

And in that way, fear can also be boring as hell.

In the past year since leaving my full-time lifestyle (and way before that!), I’ve encountered fear in spades. 

Fear of failure. 

Fear of the dwindling numbers in my bank account. 

Fear of whether people would still care about me if I was no longer associated with the cool company I’d worked for. 

Fear of, what if this book I’d spent years dreaming up and writing wasn’t actually good, and no one cared? 

Fear of disappointing myself and my loved ones. 

Fear of, what if what waited for me on the other side of ditching my secure lifestyle was…not that great?

I read recently that sometimes, the best way to rewrite the voices in your head is to start talking to them.

Yes, as in, get to know those fools. Because maybe all they want is to be heard, and simply listening to fear doesn’t mean you’re handing it the reins. You can make fear your friend.

Personally, I’ve found there is power in humanizing your thoughts this way. I’m in no way a mental health expert or therapist. I’m just an emo millennial speaking from my lived experiences. But in the months that followed leaving my job, I spent a lot of time with those voices in thought, writing, and speech. 

Whenever I was going about my day and an insecure voice would creep in, I’d try listening instead of immediately drowning it out with music, TV, or alcohol. I’d pretend fear was a friend who just needed a minute to vent.

I’d hear it call me stupid, or untalented, or unprepared. 

Then I’d gradually train it to take a backseat by telling them their input was welcome, that I’d make space for it, but I’d never let them drive because I was the one in control. I would empathize with the fear, but never feed it.

And to my surprise, the voices gradually became less loud. Less scary. Less afraid. Less powerful.

In journaling, I gave the insecure voices another place to go. 

I could let them have the pen-mic for a little bit, talk their shit, then I’d pivot to writing down the stuff that was more important to me. Where I wanted to focus: Gratitude, goals, plans. 

Gradually, I was able to start containing the voices within the pages. And eventually, the anxious, fearful thoughts that would keep me up at night got quieter. 

Maybe they felt heard and placed, and knew that I’d get back to them if I ever needed them? 

Ironically, once I laid down the thoughts this way, it’s rare I revisited.

In speaking with trusted loved ones, I gave the voices another productive space to moan, spiral, and tire out. 

In letting the fear breathe verbally, often it would be met with wonderful empathy, advice, and relatability. Sharing my insecurities in discussions with those who know my heart helped me see them in a new light, and reminded me I was never alone. 

The point is, thinking is productive to an extent. But after awhile, what matters more is what we do with our thoughts because it’s the doing that moves life forward. 

Ultimately, doing is the biggest thing that consistently helps me work past fear, once I’ve given my fears healthy places to go. In that way, fear became my ally, propelling me into my next chapter.

Make fear your friend by recognizing it.

And be careful or what you let in your mind, and where you let your mind linger. It builds on what you feed it. 

The cost of going after your dreams

I’m also painfully aware there are literal costs to going after your dreams. 

The cost of not having a consistent paycheck. The cost of living, which varies among people, locations, and circumstances. The cost of not being able to buy little luxuries you used to treat yourself to on the regular (in my case, weekly massages, meals out, and multiple date nights a week). Damn, I miss those days lollll. What’s shopping? 

But you know what? To be honest, it hasn’t been that bad.

Because this time has also reminded me of the value of the company I keep. Like my husband, my family, and my friends who just want to see me happy. For them, I am deeply grateful and fortunate.

(Another post for another day, but my community has been the single most important thing that has kept me afloat, focused, and progressing toward my dreams. Being mindful and regularly auditing whose presence energizes or drains me was crucial by the time I wanted to make such a big change in my life.) 

With them, I haven’t had to fill my days with much “stuff” at all.

I’ve been able to fill that time with building my new dream.

I’ve realized how happy I can be with so much less. (And this comes from a former New Yorker, entertainment publicist, and Leo who loooves to treat herself!)

The truth is, I still wasn’t ready to take the leap that I did. 

I would’ve much rather bit the bullet, clocked in one more year of savings or made it to maternity leave, given myself more financial cushion before bouncing. 

But back then, my happiness was eroding at a speed too fast. I reached a scenario where I had to cut my losses or else I was on a path to becoming a miserable biznatch living on autopilot. (My personal journal entries are full of evidence.) And I didn’t want to do that to my loved ones or myself.

So I decided to make fear my friend, calculate the cost of a leap of faith, and move accordingly. But always move. Move, always.

Here’s what worked for me:

• Before quitting my full-time job, I sat down and calculated my living expenses. 
• I estimated the amount of time I could support myself without the FTJ. I was honest about the help I would need beyond that, if it went there. 
• I forced myself to be willing to accept that help if the time came. (And it did, because building new things usually takes longer than you think it will.)
• I had open conversations with my spouse, the first person I talk to about basically everything. 
• I gathered info, thought about it, made the best plan I could with the information I had at the moment.
• Then I leapt.
• Burned Common’s lyrics into my brain: “Never looking back or too far in front of me. The present is a gift, and I just wanna be.” (!)
• And I kept moving. Period. 

Four months later, after a fully-unplugged break, I signed my first client.

Reflection made me realize that at the end of the day, the tangible cost of living without a salary was relatively easy to calculate, but continuing my previous lifestyle cost me the most. The most time, energy, and parts of myself that it frankly didn’t deserve. A price that I just wasn’t willing to pay.

Everyone’s scenarios are different. For all the reasons I “should’ve” stayed, there were more to find a new way forward. For me.

What about you?

Really, I want to know what other folks do. How do you treat the insecure voices in your head? How do you make fear your friend? What’s the cost of changing your life or staying the same? Is this post resonating or failing? Is this a lot of questions at the end of a blog post?

Let me know, Mom. x