This week on Duckie TV, we kicked off Q & Q Friday 2017, with a mindset question.
A duckie wrote to ask if I ever compared myself to other writers and if so, how did I cope with it.
Hello? Did I ever compare myself to others?
I’ve even tried to dress like my favourite authors. (I’ll never pull off the long black coat aka Neil Gaiman.)
On the video, I talked about how I’ve come to terms with this tendency and how I’ve more-or-less eradicated it. I had to. For the sake of my own mental health.
It all comes down to self-protection. And, I guess, self-love.
We must understand that comparing ourselves to others is the first drink. It’s the poison. It’s the addiction that will only lead to tears. Don’t touch that first drink!
BUT, in the early days of my career, I also spent time (shame on me) comparing myself to… ninnies.
Yep. I’ll admit it. I compared myself to writers who were, in my eyes, useless.
I took particular pleasure in comparing myself to hacks who were hugely successful in terms of financial gain.
Oh, the indignity! I was suffering for my art, why weren’t they?
For a few moments, comparing myself to Daisy M. Kafoops*, would give me a perverse sense of superiority. My ego would get all puffed up and mighty, and I would feel so feckin’ self-righteous.
And then I’d crash.
And then I’d fee like… crap.
I had to spin on this cycle repeatedly, for years, before I finally woke up and said, ENOUGH. This is making me miserable. And not only that, it’s demotivating.
I do not want to be miserable. I do not want to be demotivated.
I also realised that comparing myself to others, competing with others, was a form of procrastination. AND a form of self-sabotage. (Linger on this. Does it ring true for you, too?)
So I stopped comparing myself to others. I stopped competing. I withdrew from the race.
Then I had energy. Then I could find out who I was, as a writer, an artist and as a human being.
I’m not saying I’m all Zen-like and Lama-ish. I’ve still got that bottle of whiskey on the sideboard.
But mostly I avoid it.
I have a cup of tea instead.
* Daisy M. Kafoops doesn’t exist. I made her up. To protect the innocent.
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