The Ongoing Battle

When I think of the people that I'd describe as prideful, oftentimes this pride comes hand-in-hand with insecurity. Obviously, there are certain people where the pride comes from the proper source: self-confidence that is impervious to external influence. But more often than not, the prideful ones constantly need validation. It sounds contradictory, but I don't know how else to explain it. The first time I noticed this was my freshman year of college; one friend would often say all sorts of outlandish statements about her beauty and looks, but upon closer inspection, it was clear that her vanity was a coverup for deep-rooted insecurities about her desirability.

The quality I tend to get most pig-headed about? My writing ability. The thing though, is that it's always a constant struggle for me to believe that it's something I'm good at. Even if I try to warm myself up by recalling any compliments I've received in the past, they do little to comfort me in the long run. There's always this fear that my writing has gotten worse over time, or that I may lose this skill at any moment. I don't think this fear is completely unfounded. I coincidentally started making big strides with EP around the same time my roommate and I started an exercise routine. In the beginning I dreaded going to the gym. It wasn't even that bad once I was actually in the gym, but the mental battle of not wanting to go huffing and puffing on the elliptical was the worst. Same thing with writing. Frankly, I was out of shape: words didn't come as naturally as they used to, but the biggest problem was getting over the mental hurdle. I knew the stuff I was churning out was sub-par, and it was more comfortable to just close Word and go watch another episode of City Hunter.

I can be pretty hypercritical about my own writing, but interestingly enough, I am also rather sensitive about others criticizing my writing. One reason why I think my English major was valuable in helping me improve is that the class workshops forced me to get used to sharing my stuff. But even so, I dreaded the days when I'd have to pass out copies of my work and everyone in the room would have a discussion about it. Nobody ever said anything mean to me, but it was always nerve-wracking wondering if people secretly thought my writing was a godawful piece of melodrama stuffed with purple prose.

Similarly, I can get very sensitive about putting myself out there on social media. I rarely ever post Facebook statuses and I generally stay away from writing comments. I see lots of people on my newsfeed who end up relying on social media to validate their self-worth--hence, all the narcissistic posts fishing for "likes" and comments. Even when I change a profile picture, I start paying an exorbitant amount of attention to whether or not people have been "liking" my photo. And I hate behaving like this, so I try to avoid posting anything in the first place.

So when my mother asked me to share a link about the Sunflower Movement (aka the Taiwanese student protests), I knew what I should do, but I was terrified. I wrote a concise explanation of the protest that I asked both my mother and YY to proofread for me, and I decided I'd post the status at noon for maximum exposure. But during the few hours while I was waiting for noon, I was stressed out of my mind. I thought of the FB friends who support the Taiwanese blue party and wondered if they were all going to chew me out publicly. Then I wondered if I would be fruitlessly yelling out into a vacuum, and all I'd get would be one pity "like" from my mother. Mind you, this was before I'd even posted ANYTHING.

Well, 22 hours later, I am happy to report that I got more than just one pity "like" from my mother. Last I checked, there were 43 likes and 7 comments. Quite a number of "likes" were from people I didn't even dream would read my post. To them, it was probably nothing more than a mindless tap on the smartphone screen, but I'm embarrassed to admit how happy it made me feel. Nobody said anything bad; in fact, most of the comments thanked me for sharing and some even complimented me for my well-written analysis. In fact, my favorite English teacher from high school even commented to say so. That literally made my day.

All in all, this episode probably just proves that I am still ridiculously reliant on others to feel good about myself. But I can't deny that it spurred a big boost in writing productivity yesterday. And that's always a WIN in my book.