procrastinationI skipped yesterday. (I’m trying to shake loose some writer’s block by writing 15 minutes a day – no limitations – and then POSTING it.)

My excuse is that I fell asleep at 8:30pm with the baby, but I had opportunities throughout the day to do it. I just didn’t want to.

I was afraid.

My first two days of posting seemed a bit too vulnerable and I don’t know if I can keep level of vulnerabilty up for 30 days in a row.

I almost skipped today, too.

I procrastinated a full hour and forty-five minutes.

[clickToTweet tweet=”Rather than get started on what I worry will fail, I scroll scroll scroll on my social media of choice and like snapshots of other people’s lives rather than live my own. #numb #procrastination #amwriting #fear” quote=”Rather than get started on what I worry will fail, I scroll scroll scroll on my social media of choice and like snapshots of other people’s lives rather than live my own.”]

Honestly, fear is a huge reason I procrastinate. I always thought it was because I am lazy, but I am starting to realize that I believe a convenient lie about myself.

How can I really be that lazy?

I am a mother of four small humans, the oldest of whom is eight and the youngest of whom is 17 months old.

I homeschool them. In Chinese. The older two kids have five extracurricular activities a week. FIVE. I take them to all five.

Two of my children have to go to a biweekly Oral Immunotherapy appointment for their food allergies that lasts about 1.5 hours each time. If we’re lucky. Sometimes, I have to lug all four of my kids to the appointment as we’re all stuck in a small room. Together. For 90 minutes.

I keep my children alive.

I write. I write a lot. I manage social media and Facebook groups for clients and myself. I work.

Somewhere, in between all these things, I squeeze in the other things I want to do.

So, am I really that lazy?

No, I don’t think so.

This, unfortunately, leads me to conclude that the REAL reason I procrastinate is out of fear. I am afraid.
A lot.

I don’t think I’m consciously afraid. It’s like the running background hum of electronics. It’s woven into my operating system and lurks like the Shadow King, whispering to my hopes and dreams and desires.

Sometimes, it’s a high level fear. Fear that I will fail and fail spectacularly in public. Fear that I will succeed and then have to replicate that success. Fear that I will try for the things I really want and then have others say, “Who does she think she is? She ain’t all that.”

[clickToTweet tweet=”Honestly, fear is a huge reason I procrastinate. I always thought it was because I am lazy, but I am starting to realize that I believe a convenient lie about myself. #fear #procrastinating #amwriting ” quote=”Honestly, fear is a huge reason I procrastinate. I always thought it was because I am lazy, but I am starting to realize that I believe a convenient lie about myself.” theme=”style1″]

Sometimes, it’s a low level anxiety type fear. Anxiety that writing another book is really a lot of work and I haven’t written anything yet and I have 25 more days before my goal to finish at least half by the end of the month. Anxiety that I can’t find all our financial records for the CPA tomorrow. Anxiety that I am not going to make my internal deadlines for things I want to get done.

And so, rather than get started on what I worry will fail, I scroll scroll scroll on my social media of choice and like snapshots of other people’s lives rather than live my own.

Time to procrastinate procrastination.

Tomorrow.

Okokokokok. I couldn’t resist. I will do better! Who’s with me?