If you’re anything like me you know exactly what this is like. Half your brain goes “You could totally model for Addition Elle/write for xoJane/dance burlesque and dominate the scene because you are a queen/maybe do something adult with your life like trying to fix your massive piles of debt!” and the other half goes “But what about your complete lack of talent/complete lack of talent/crippled back/complete inability to function in the real world?” and you spend the rest of the night curled up in bed, crying and eating ice cream, because that apparently fucking helps, until you run out of ice cream and can’t afford any more.
Then the next day you feel better after some sleep and coffee and terrifying nightmares that make you never want to sleep again, truthfully, and take a step towards realizing one of your dreams and the step is HARD and it reaffirms your crippling self-doubt, and you go and hide in the closet and play Plants vs. Zombies 2 on your tablet but you keep failing that one level which is also, like, stupid hard, and you feel worse about yourself so you wrap yourself in your Reading Rainbow shirt and cry and scream SET PHASERS TO LOVE ME.
Eventually you crawl out of your closet, feeling a bit calmer and less shaky, and try to take a step again on one of your dreams. Maybe this step isn’t so hard, so you get it done, and then you start to believe you can do anything! Do ALL the things! You’re on a roll, you’re amazing, you are the fucking queen, you can function in the real world, you’ll be a star soon, everything is coming up roses….
And then one tiny thing goes wrong and you start to doubt again. The crippling self-doubt makes a comeback, knocks your delusions of grandeur on their ass. You try to soldier on, convince yourself you can still do this, you can, because you’re amazing.
But they always snowball, these things, and because — if you’re like me at all — you can’t function when problems arise in your life, you cannot deal with these problems. The big HARD things come up again and you can’t. fix. them. You curl up into a little ball and hope the problem will go away if you just shut your eyes tight enough.
This is what happens every time I get a new idea about something I want to do. Addition Elle is currently running a contest for new models. They’re a 14+ store, so there’s an actual chance I could get it. I do have modelling experience, and apparently I’m pretty damn hot and confident (haha, what). The first step is to submit headshot and full body pic.
And that first step is basically the biggest fucking hurdle I have ever encountered. First I think well maybe I’ll submit my headshot, professionally done, from 2 years ago, but no, says the other part of my brain, no it needs to be CURRENT or you’re fucking your chances, which is TRUE, so where the hell am I going to get a current headshot? Where the hell am I going to get a current full body shot?
With, remember, like zero funds, because that’s what I have right now. I do have friends who are pro photographers, which is why I’d never ask them to shoot me for free; fuck, I’m an artist too, we need to be paid.
So that’s one battle. Another is the fact that I would just really love to write for xoJane but, well, I have no idea how to go about even applying for that sort of job and I’m pretty much solidly convinced they wouldn’t want me anyway because whatever I say could probably be said a million times better by Marianne Kirby or Emily McCombs. I don’t have a real journalism background, besides writing for the paper at Maui Community College, and times like these I actually regret not getting my degree in Journalism or something.
And, because we can’t stop at just two battlefields on which the two parts of my brain can duke it out, there are the burlesque and “being an adult” things. Becoming Burlesque is coming up again, and I really really really want to take the class, but, well. Two big hurdles there: 1. my spine and 2. money, which basically are both money, because my spine is still fucked because I can’t afford physical therapy. (No, Canada doesn’t cover it, and I’m “not disabled enough” to have it (or anything else!) covered by disability. Because not being able to work or even clean my house IF I can even get out of bed is apparently, you know, perfectly fucking healthy, go get a job you lazy bitch. Thanks Canada!)
But, you know, even if I could get over those hurdles in time to sign up for this class the chances of my doing it are slim, because again: CRIPPLING SELF-DOUBT, my favourite bedfellow, jerk hogs the fuckin’ covers.
And I mean, at this point do I even really need to go into being an adult and why that’s such a problem for me? No. No I do not. I believe I have covered all my bases here.
So if you’re anything like me and you face similar problems in chasing your dreams, come hang out here. This blog is a safe space for us all to be completely fucked up together. Solidarity and all that. (But you’ll have to bring your own ice cream; I am all out.)