Give Yourself Permission: Let Go of the Apron String

I’ve said it before: writing is a hard gig. If you write (and you are serious about it), I’m not telling you something you don’t already know.

As we mature, we understand that the creative process is not for the fainthearted.  We get that our journey isn’t the rose petaled path we initially envisioned.

In fact, our pilgrimage to publication is often marked by anguish, difficulty, and ice-water-in-the-face reality. We’d like to skip those parts, but alas, we can’t. There are specific steps to follow and stages to master.

It’s like when we’re building a house. First, we decide on a plot of land. Next come the footings, foundation, frame, and so on, until at last, our home begins to take shape. It’s not built in a day; often, building a home takes months. Sometimes even years.

That’s a rather simple analogy, as mastering the writing craft is a lifetime sojourn. It’s not something we ever feel we’re completely done with, but rather, we learn to compartmentalize it and look at various aspects with renewed focus and better understanding. Our comprehension improves as we negotiate the mountains and valleys. It’s a trial by fire, kick-it-in-the-backside kind of feeling.

When new to the writing world, we’re still aglow in the naming of our dream: I want to be a writer.

We bask in this new self-awareness, more than ready to take on the lion that roars inside our brain.

We’re armed with writing groups, technology, craft books, and critique partners. We can barely contain our enthusiasm; we’re certain the words will spew forth in the form of beautiful, bestselling books. The kind that our aunts, uncles, grandmas, and cousins-twice-removed will want to buy and display prominently on their coffee tables and ottomans.

Then…life goes haywire.

Kids get sick.

Family emergencies strike.

The economy tanks.

We lose patience, perseverance, and maybe, our mind.

We’ll hold fast to the apron string of author friends and others, however, because our vulnerability will still be raw, fresh, and ugly. Too much to go alone.

Our love of the writing craft may wane.

Doubt disguised as wise counsel might offer false comfort.

Tethered to the apron string will seem our safest bet. We won’t have to choose our own direction because, naturally, we’ll go the way of the one who’s wearing the apron. Their way won’t be our way, but we’ll convince ourselves it’s for the greater good.

The once-raging lion becomes but a whimper. And for awhile, we’re content holding that ol’ apron string.

But…

for how long?

How long?

It’s great to have those “go to” folks who we can depend on. Sometimes, their apron strings offer just what we need until we’re able to dust ourselves off and jump back in with both feet.

I believe all writers experience “apron string moments.” Newer writers may find them more of a challenge, but even those who’ve been writing a long time have held their fair share of apron strings.

What’s important is this: we don’t have to be a slave to our feelings of insecurity. This devalues the power of God over our lives.

When we recognize that we’re not the one in charge, it’s a frightening, but freeing thought. We don’t have to rely on others for direction because our Heavenly Father has given us what we need to break free.

We may blunder.

We might look silly.

We could even make a big mess of things.

Then again…

We may survive.

We might rise to the occasion.

We may very well taste success.

Go on.

Give yourself permission today.

Let go of the apron string.

 

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How are you choosing to be proactive today, whether in your writing career or another area?

Additional posts of encouragement:

Two Words That Motivate

What We Believe About Ourselves

Why Writers Do What We Do

Well, Snap! You Mean Anyone Can Have Courage?

How to Stay Motivated Despite Chronic Complainers

Photo Credit: strawbryb/Creative Commons

Photo Credit: Jessica Wilson/Creative Commons

Blessings Always,