I’m cringing as i write this this because it hits so directly on my “unworthiness” button.
When I turned 12 and my family moved to a new town which was very different from the place we had lived in, I began to harbor fantasies around “being discovered.” Up until the time we moved, I didn’t think much about “being discovered.” I think it was because up until that point I felt pretty fully self-expressed. If I got an idea I really liked, I generally went with it. I didn’t do huge projects but I did things like copying something I saw on TV as a picture, writing and producing a play, writing a story, making a cake I saw in a cookbook, carving a bar of soap into a fish, making pinatas from balloons and paper mache, and making hand puppets from cheesecloth, making a castle from Elmers Glue and pebbles I found in the playground.
I didn’t question myself or ask “should I do this or should I not do this?”
I usually just collected what I needed and did the steps.
When I began writing this, I was feeling discouraged because I’ve been writing my blog for a long time and up until recently, I have received very, very few comment from people. From time to time people will like something I posted but not very often.
Even though I’ve looked at my blog as a personal journal and only post what I write because I want to make these things available to other people so perhaps if there is someone out there they may not feel so alone, I still feel very lonely and isolated. As though no one really cares what I do or whether I even exist.
Looking back at Park Forest, it now occurs to me that I received a lot of attention and encouragement. My parents were always very enthusiastic about everything I created. They took pictures and told me how clever I was. I always felt appreciated and fully received by them. I never felt ed embarrassed. I felt good. Warm and happy and appreciated for being who I was.
And I received attention for my teachers and other adults at school. I was recognized for my creativity and one of my pictures was hung in a community art exhibit at the library.
My family moved to a new town when I was 11 and the values in this town were very different from those of the place from which we moved. I guess in retrospect, the new place was more representative of what I tend to encounter in the “real” world. It seemed like people cared mostly about how much money you had, what kind of car you drove, whether you belonged to a country club, your grades in school, and the job you had.
People pay attention if you do something spectacular but not much attention to the gems within and the smaller accomplishments.
I began having fantasies about one day “being discovered.” I think the myth about Lana Turner being discovered in Schwab’s drugstore in hollywood really grabbed my imagination. It’s definitely a fairytale that lots of people I think secretly harbor a desire for.
I keep wanting someone who is powerful and can “make things happen” to discover my writing and visual work. They would be so impressed by my brilliance that they immediately would have all kinds of ideas for helping me get recognition and to make money. And I would never toil in obscurity again, I would feel really loved and appreciated and I would finally feel as though I actually mattered. The End.
So although I now feel self-conscious of my desire to feel recognized and appreciated, there was a time when I was encouraged and appreciated and I think I really blossomed during this time.
I feel like I should be able to do things without sincere encouragement. But the truth is that I don’t think anyone can accomplish much without encouragement and appreciation. I mean, duh! The problem comes up when I depend on others to inform me re how I should fee. about my work.
I noticed recently that when I do receive sincere praise I go kind of numb. Like I’m unable to take what the person in. I think it’s because I’m afraid to allow myself to enjoy and trust the praise. “if they knew the real me they’d never say this.”
On a positive note, I’ve been more comfortable with the idea of doing creative work for it’s own sake. Because doing it is reward enough. The more solid this feels, the easier it’s been to unhook from my need for outside validation. This feels encouraging to me.