The Mind That Wanders Against Me

The same boredom crept in again today. The familiar self-doubt accompanied it. There’s a quiet voice that says I’ll never truly be able to express myself in writing. It tells me I’m just pretending, that I’m not good enough, that I’m only fooling myself.

Since morning, there’s been a fight inside me, the same one I’ve been having with my mind for as long as I can remember.

A simple joy can turn into a big disappointment in seconds. The moment I feel like I’ve accomplished something, it gets triggered. If I start to feel a little proud of myself, it happens just like that.

Today, I went for a five-mile walk. My pace was 19.21 minutes per mile. For a moment, I was happy and proud, even. I wanted to write about it.

But immediately, that voice spoke again: It’s slow. Many people move faster than that. Why are you so proud? It’ll be embarrassing to write about. Why write about something so ordinary?

And just like that, the joy slipped away.

Sometimes my mind feels like a mirror that’s slightly distorted. It shows me versions of myself that are smaller, duller, less capable than I really am.
Even when I know it’s lying, part of me still believes what it shows me.

I’ve lived with chronic pain since childhood.
Things that come easily to others are often hard for me. I wake up in pain every day. Some mornings, even taking a single step feels like climbing a mountain.

But I walk anyway. I’ve been walking for nearly fifteen years now.
Until last year, my pace was 22 minutes per mile. I’ve slowly improved.
So when I saw 19.21 today, I was surprised. And happy. Even if just for a minute.

Then that voice returned, the same one that tries to dim every small spark.
It does this not just with my walking, but with my writing too.

I see it. I understand what’s happening. I might even know a thing or two about the reasons behind it. I’ll write about them someday, when I can find the right words.

Today, I had to push back.
I reminded myself that I’m not writing to impress anyone, not even myself.

I’m writing because I want to. Because it matters to me.

Because I matter to me.