Tag Archive | doubt

Dear Me . . .

Dear Me - The Qwiet Muse

Just to clarify ~ I’m not crazy. I don’t have split personalities, the one I have may be splintered just a little bit though. Truthfully, we all have many faces and facets that make up the entirety of who we are. Sometimes we disconnect from self, we may not even be aware we’ve neglected certain aspects of ourselves, but eventually it begins to manifest outwardly and when it does, people notice.

It may be some internal attempt at self-preservation, it may be our experiences in the moment are simply so overwhelming they overshadow parts of who we are. When his happens it can lead to depression, self-doubt, and a sense of emptiness in our lives. I’ve seen it happen to those around me, people dealing with illness, heavy work loads, and other life-changing events. I see it happen often with caregivers and parents. It’s happened to me.

Women seem particularly susceptible, especially mothers. We tend to forget we are more than just wives and mothers and the ten thousand other things we are expected to be. We are unique and complex individuals, there really is more to us than what the world sees, there is more to us than we can sometimes see as well.

We often push parts of ourselves to the deepest depths of our inner being, we become what we think everyone needs and expects us to be. That’s okay as long as we don’t forget to nourish the essence of who we are. Sometimes, we just need to remind ourselves we are important too.

When my kids were still little ones, I went through a period of loss. Loss of self. My life was a whirlwind of schools, doctors, therapists, and medication. I had four young children, two with developmental disabilities, a husband frequently away in service of his country, and a recent diabetes diagnosis. I lost myself in the mayhem.

In a rare and quiet moment the weight of it all bore down on me and I knew I had to do something or I wouldn’t have the strength or the will to continue. I hadn’t picked up a pen to write much more than grocery lists and schedules to keep for a long while, that night I decided to dust off my journal and try to make sense of it all.

What I ended up penning to the page seemed odd, and to be honest, I thought at the time, stupid. I closed my journal feeling no better than I had when I’d opened it. The next day though, I felt stronger. I took little breaks throughout the day to sit and read, to simply sit in thought. I felt a sense of peace. The rest of the week I felt lighter, I enjoyed my days a little more.

I’d forgotten about my journal entry until I decided to write something about a month later, I was surprised at what I found. I didn’t recall writing the words I was reading. I’d penned a letter to myself. It was the first of many . . .

Hello there my old friend. It’s been so long since we’ve had a moment to talk. I just thought I would check in with you and see if you’re okay. Are you? I only ask because you’ve been so distanced from me lately. Remember the hours we used to spend together in thought or in silent prayer? Have you forgotten how wonderful it was, sitting back in the sun, reading and resting?

I miss the quiet moments we used to spend together. I miss hearing your laughter. Do you laugh anymore? Tears seem to have replaced that twinkle in your eyes and that saddens me. I wish I could help. I am trying, do you even hear me? I know you must, you simply have to. If we could just reconnect I know it would ease your troubled heart.

I can feel your loneliness, it is mine as well. There’s no need to be lonely, I am still here. My presence seems to be crowded and nearly lost by all of the pressures and pains you’re feeling. I know the responsibilities you have are great, but what happened to the time you used to make for us . . . for you, the time used to rejuvenate your soul and refresh your mind and spirit?

You cannot keep going without checking in with me every now and then you know. You need me and I need you. What would we be without one another? I shudder at the thought of it. I know right now you feel you do not have time for me, but I think if you tried you would find you really do.

I’m not asking for days or even hours, just a few stolen moments every once in a while. We could read a chapter or two in an old book or step outside and let the cool winters breeze give us goosebump kisses. We could sip a cup of tea and write poetry and breathe.

Please think it over, I know you will feel better once we have been in each other’s company for a spell. I will be here for you when you’re ready, just as I always am. I do hope you will squeeze me in soon. I’m afraid if you do not I will lose you forever. What would become of me? What would become of you?

I whispered a prayer for us. I look forward to spending some time with you soon. Sooner than later I hope.

I miss you and I love you . . .

Sincerely yours.

A little part of you.

Crystal R. Cook

An award, a gift & my gratitude

I have a small confession to make. I started this blog anticipating utter failure. I was quite certain it would flounder and float aimlessly in the realm of blogdom until I simply gave up and deleted the whole thing.

I’m not entirely certain what makes a blog successful. I tried to research what to do and what not to do, everyone has an opinion and there are plenty of them to choose from. After reading advice from many bloggers I decided I would just forget it all and simply go with my own randomly unorganized way of doing things.

It suits me. I still have no idea what makes a blog a smashing success or if mine will ever be considered as such, but I no longer fear its inevitable demise. Well, perhaps a bit, but that too is in my nature.

Self doubt is a nasty intruder, it paid me a visit the other day and almost had me convinced I was wasting my time, I was ready to delete it all and go back to my journals, hiding my words from all eyes but my own.

God has a way of quelling my doubts in the most unexpected of ways.

I awoke to a sweet message from a fellow blogger, awrestlingwriter.  She nominated my blog for an award. I’ve seen them posted to various blogs I enjoy following and I must say, I secretly wanted one to decorate my page with.

One Lovely blog Award

I know the magic of these awards shared throughout the community of bloggers has worn off for some of the more seasoned among us, but as this is my first, I celebrate it. It renewed my resolve to continue, but my doubts still lingered, they never go away willingly.

Later in the day I arrived home to a package. It was from CafePress. It was addressed to me. Weird. I hadn’t ordered anything. I figured it was a mistake I would have to repackage and return.

It wasn’t.

It was a gift. A thoughtful, encouraging gift from a beautiful friend I’ve not yet had the privilege to meet face to face, she is as dear to me as any. I’ve felt her friendship and love from a distance and it’s real, a blessing in my life. Opening that box scared away the doubts still lingering within me.


I have so much to share, so many words longing for release, so far I’ve been clinging to the wall like I did when I first put on a pair of roller skates, maybe it’s time to let go. Baby steps . . .

Thank you my friends. Thank you.

Profanity wins this round.

This is the part of me I hate. This fear, this fucking incessant, stupid, ridiculous, bastard called fear. I would rid myself of it in less than a heartbeat if there was a way. Fucking anxiety. I apologize for the profanity, its unlike me to use that word, it insinuates itself into my personal vernacular every now and then, like right now. I could easily delete it, but that would be like covering up a lie. I thought it, I said it, I wrote it. Now it exists. No perfect, pretty little words can erase it now.

I want to be rid of this tyrannical and irrational nonsense residing deep within me. I’ve battled it, sometimes somewhat successfully since I was a child, obviously I’ve not yet become the victor. Hope, prayer, faith, writing, and Xanax are my weapons of choice in this seemingly never-ending conflict raging inside of me.

In the past I’ve attempted to seek help from outside sources, my resolve to never again do so was cemented the last time I stepped into the office of someone who promised relief. Explaining anxiety to someone who’s never experienced it in it’s most primal form is like trying to relay the pains of labor to someone who has yet to bear a child of their own. They haven’t anything to compare, nothing in their lives have ever come close enough to allow them to grasp the true nature of what you say. No amount of book learning can result in true understanding.

This man, he was an asshat. His professional, expert opinion was simple; I was afraid of people. No you jackhole, I just don’t care much for most of them. My fears are faceless and nameless, there is rarely a reason they come to call, just unwelcome visitors insane with the notion of driving me mad. This morning, they achieved near success as I sat sobbing and shaking, afraid of everything and nothing.

The panic portion of my ordeal has thankfully passed, but I am left with feelings of undeserved shame over what I am still unable to control. I’m angry about it. No, I’m pissed off and I’m weary. I resent being at the mercy of this invisible and unworthy adversary I allow to knock me down.

Another hour or so and the entire episode will be forgotten, as if it never even occurred. The only residual effect now is the knowledge it will return. I try not to think about that part. I try to pretend every one is the last one, but I am not naive enough to allow myself to find much comfort in the thought.

One of these days I hope to strike the final blow . . . If not, at the very least, I will continue to get back up every time it succeeds in bringing me to my knees. I may not win this fight, but I will never, never succumb to it.



Strength can be so gentle
like soft rains from high above

Kindness can be tough
if it is not done out of love

Caring sometimes hurts
but it’s a chance worth taking

Pain sometimes is healing
it is wholeness in the making

Faith really can move mountains
if you truly do believe

Fear can hide reality
if it’s all you choose to see

A whisper can be heard
clearer than a shout

A touch with tender strength
can lift the chains of doubt

Love can change the world
if it’s pure and it is true

It’s a blessing and a gift
from God above to you

Crystal R. Cook 2004

Writers Angst

I’m not good enough. It is as simple as that; I’m just not good enough. There is a wicked little voice somewhere inside of me, whispering of my inadequacies, reminding me of my shortcomings. I’ve tried to quell it with all of the positive thinking I can muster, but still it never quiets. If I could rid myself of this angst I imagine I would rise higher into the literary heights I often dream of, but alas, the beast that it is does not share my dreams.

It cannot stop the words from flowing forth; it cannot keep me bound in some wordless prison. No, all of my words are locked up right alongside of me. Every now and again I find escape. Every now and then I feel a sense of accomplishment. Each time I do however, the voice begins to babble. Each time I see my name in print it should fill me with pride and it quite often does, sadly though, it doesn’t last for long.

I question each word I write, for the longest time I kept my words hidden so no one would see. It is a small victory for me each time I show the world what lay within me. I often wonder if this battle will always be. If I will always feel not good enough, if I will ever stop waiting for someone to finally tell me to stop writing and wasting my time.

Words have been my constant companions; they have never failed me, never judged me, never left me. They let me do with them what I will; they give themselves to me without question. The voice tells me they are not mine to have, I am not worthy of them.

In my heart I do not believe it, in my heart I know my words are meant to be, I know I am worthy of them. It is not my heart that stands between me and what could be, it is my mind, my ever working, ever wondering, ever wandering mind that builds the walls I must climb.

It is a sometimes a struggle to knock them down, yet brick by brick they fall and I make my way past the rubble and travel with my head held high, praying no more walls will block my path. I know I will one day find the strength to hush the voice of doubt, for I know that small, yet powerful voice is my own.

Crystal R. Cook