What If?

I am afraid of being found out.

I’m afraid that people won’t like me if they discover the real me.

I’m afraid that I’ll be judged lacking. That people will realize that I’m not normal.

I’m afraid I’ll be shunned.

And then, on good days, I think, “what’s the worst that could happen?” And I realize that it truly doesn’t matter.

I am who I am.

And someday I’ll discover myself.


I write the most when I actually make myself sit down to do so.

And when I’m inspired.

It’s not always easy, but I believe it is a muscle to be exercised. It becomes stiff with misuse, and easier to flex when used daily.

Hence these writing exercises, some of which may turn into songs.


I like to spend my time worrying. At least that’s what it seems like, some days.

I worry about starting things, because I might get them wrong. I worry about not having enough time to do all the things I “should” do, and all the things I want to do.

And, of course, one cancels out the other.


I’m worried that I will never feel like a success.

I’m worried that I will never feel happy within myself.

I’m worried that I will never feel as if I have done enough.

And then I shake my head and remind myself not to think that way. My thoughts are habits, which can be changed.

Who? Me?

Who am I? I’m really not sure.

I’m my mother’s daughter. And I’m my husband’s wife.

I’m slave to my cats. I’m a collector of books and stuff.

But me? I’m not sure.

I’d like to say I’m confident and capable. If I tell myself that enough times, maybe I”ll believe it.

I’d love to say I’m beautiful. But then I look into the mirror too many times to know that that isn’t true.

I’m a good person? Well, I try to not be a bad person, so maybe there’s some truth in that.

Mostly, I’m just confused.


There’s always been a battle within my brain.

No matter what I do, I feel that it’s never enough, or never good enough.

Not only that, I don’t do it correctly in the first place. The way I’m doing something is wrong. There are better ways. It’s not fast enough. And on, and on.

There’s no easy answer, and it never seems to end.

And it’s very tiring.


I’m bravest when I realize that I’m the only one affected by my decisions.

I’m brave when I know that if I don’t talk something out, it will fester over time and get worse. When I know that something will continue to hurt me or bother me until it is resolved.

I’m most brave when I know that my husband stands beside me and supports me.

The rest of the time I’m a wuss.