Doubt. Doubt plagues me me at every step. Am I good enough? echoes between the hollows of my skull. A relentless mantra that paralyzes. Freezes in time the thought, the action, the urge to try.
Doubt, and its friend delay, are self-realizing prophecies. It would be correct to say I won’t achieve what I want because I am not good enough, because I won’t – if never try.
And by trying, I practice. And everyone knows practice makes perfect.
Fuck doubt. I got this.