One of my favourite people, Nat from Easy Peasy Kids, tweeted tonight about negative self voice, and how it’s a bit crap.

And she’s right. It is a pain in the freaking ass.

I replied that it is. I knows no reason, or logic or kindness.

But it got me thinking about my own negative voice. The one that tells me everyone is mocking me. The one that tells me I’m not good enough. The one that tells me I’m a shitty writer. The one that tells me I’m a bad mother. The one that tells me no one really likes you anyway. That one. It’s a bad friend. But it’s hard to shake that bitch loose.

When I was a teenager simple interactions with shop assistants would haunt me for days. Thank you, negative voice. If I misheard them, or fumbled for my money, or missed a joke. Ridiculous things. That said shop assistant who sees a gazillion people every day would never give a second thought to.

I worked myself out of that paralysis through self CBT. Or my version of it. Which was basically me repeating the logic of how my feelings weren’t based in reality, until I believed it. Almost. And it helped. But the remnants of it linger on still. And it doesn’t take much to cast me back into that place.

I remind myself of things, often.

A lion doesn’t lose sleep over the opinion of sheep.

I don’t worry about what other people think of me, because I don’t think of them at all.

What other people think of me is none of my god damn business.

And it works, mostly.

But I wonder. I think that in all of that negative voice, there is a combination of what is neurotic crap and what is self doubt. And while I could live without the neurotic crap, I think I’ll hold onto the self doubt.

If you never question yourself, you never change. You never want to change. If you have no self-doubt then there is no reason to evolve. To aspire to something a little bit greater for yourself. A certain amount of self doubt is necessary. Up until the point when it paralyses you, and then it is no good.

I’m poor with taking criticism from others. Not because I don’t see it. But because I do. And it’s nothing that I haven’t said to myself a hundred times and my version was crueler, nastier and less diplomatic.

A long time ago, when my blog was still very young, I wrote (for another site) about how you needed ego armour. And you do. You need to have an unwavering belief that you can offer something unique. But in the long run self-doubt will make it better. That negative voice? Will make it worse. That negative voice will make it paralysed. That negative voice will make you second guess everything. That negative voice will stop you from being who you are.

Sometimes, the line is hard to find. Like self doubt is in cahoots with your negative voice and they are plotting together to throw you off the scent.

But the upshot of the negative voice is that no matter how cruel someone on the outside is, I’ve already faced it. A hundred times. And my negative voice has been far more vindictive than any other person could ever be. No matter how hard they tried. They can’t really get in my head, because a mean ass bastard already lives there.

There’s no room for anyone else.

I believe you can see photographers in their photos. If you can’t see them, I think they are probably doing something wrong.

Leaving a piece of yourself is important. To tell a story. To leave a moment of truth in your wake. To leave something behind in the image. To invest something of yourself.

Life is about risk taking, I think. Anything worth doing, is worth taking a risk for. Including leaving pieces of yourself behind in your work. Sometimes imperfect work. Sometimes it might not say something fantastic about you. But leaving a trail. Leaving a touch stone. Well, that’s worth it.

Down at the lake there used to be this reflector on one of the bridges. And when Riley was little she used to touch it every time she passed. It’s gone now. I don’t know why. But Piper often touches the mark of where it was. It left a piece of itself behind, even after it was gone.

I leave pieces of myself all over the place. It’s not for other people. It’s for me, to remind myself, that I was there. That I invested something. That I risked something. That I was able to find a tiny bit of faith.

Because faith is like falling in love. You can’t prove it, but it’s palpable. And it is. And it doesn’t change. Faith is underrated. Sometimes too much stock is put in what you can see, and touch, and prove. But I put my stock in faith. That thing that you can never prove, but you feel it in your bones. Like a promise that can never be broken.

I’ve been on the other side too. Shattered faith. Broken promises. And a world turns on its head and is black and lifeless and pointless and ordinary. But I choose faith. I choose to hope for the best, even if makes me foolish. I’d rather be foolish than cold. I’d rather be foolish than resigned.

Some things are worth the risk. If you are not willing to fall flat on your ass and look like an idiot, then maybe the thing that you are working for isn’t worth it. Or isn’t worthy of you.

Sometimes you just have to fall. Someone might catch you. You might save yourself. Or you might hit rock bottom and build a fortress. Or you might find out who you really are. But first you have to fall. First, you have to risk all those broken bones. And trust, that the fall is worth it. The pieces of yourself that you leave behind are worth it. The fall is everything. Without it, you are just standing still. And nothing good will ever come from that.

I was writing this article for The Shake about whether or not you needed to be ‘on brand’ as the social media experts say.

And it occurred to me, mid typing, that I hadn’t chosen my brand. I’d just gone out and been human and flawed and hypocritical and inconsistent and my brand had kind of chosen me. And maybe it wasn’t something that I was actually proud of. Maybe it wasn’t something that I’d like to stick my name to after all. Because it wasn’t purposeful, it wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t picking the things I wanted to be known for.  And all of a sudden I’m known for things that I never, ever intended. And now that I’m aware, it will probably take awhile to change that. If I want to.

Really, it reminds me of my running injury. I know. More running. Stay with me. I had a lot of really good advice about resting the injury. About allowing it time to heal. I went to see the physio. I did all of the things I was supposed to do. But it wasn’t getting any better. Until a couple of days I woke up and I thought fuck it. FUCK IT. I’m going to ignore all the advice and just do things my way. Which is I don’t wait. I find a way. Sometimes that pans out for me. Sometimes it doesn’t. But it’s my way. So I found some insoles with arch support because I figured it was worth a shot. And changed my running style. To something entirely awkward. But something that meant I could run with a whole lot less pain. And a leg that didn’t hate me afterwards.

So the way people see me isn’t something that I would necessarily choose. It’s not all my best attributes. It’s not positive. It’s not aspirational. It’s weak. It’s insecure. It’s strong. It’s dramatic. It’s with an inflated sense of self. It’s unhinged. It’s emotional. It’s mistake-ridden. It’s hypocritical. It’s not backing down in the face of giant adversity. It’s uncomfortable. It’s awkward. It’s weird. It’s so flawed you can see the fault in the bones, shining through my skin.

And I guess I’m ok with that.

Because fuck it. That is my way.

For the longest time I didn’t understand that phrase ‘have your cake and eat it too’. I’m slow. Then one day the penny dropped. Which it has a way of doing, eventually. And then everything makes sense, and it looks shiny and new and perfect and easy.

I like that Albert Enstein quote ‘If you can’t explain something simply, then you don’t understand it very well’. I’m a classic over-thinker. It’s probably why I score far higher on IQ and Mensa tests when I’m drunk. I know. I’m disturbed that I know that fact too. It’s not just you.

Yesterday someone who I’ve never met before and never talked to told me I was an awful parent. And I found out that someone who I thought was my friend, wasn’t. Even though, deep down you kind of know that it shouldn’t bother you, some things stay with you.

In most things you don’t get to have your cake and eat it too. You’ve got to choose one. And the choice can be somewhat defining. It can tell you who you are. Much like how who you are on the worst day of your life will tell you more about yourself than your best day. On your worst day, that’s character. On your best, it’s just fluff.

Most of my best assets as a person are my greatest flaws. I’m not sure if most people feel that way or if it’s a common thing. But it certainly feels that way to me. Sometimes the flaws seem so great that I think people could see it in my bones. Like an ever-fixed, never changing mark.

But I’m all good with my choices. I’ll eat my cake. And leave the rest.

I’m running down the path less travelled and nothing is in my way.