Pages

Saturday 28 November 2020

"We need your bio"

As soon as I hear or read these words, my mind melts and I feel like I am the biggest imposter/failure/brag artist ever.

I get the same feelings when I think about updating my CV. So I don't. I send my crappy draft to friends and get them to write down just how fricking amazing I am (Sorry, friends!).

I know I'm not alone in this.

Most of us find it difficult to receive compliments and to talk about our achievements, especially after the excitement of the achievement has passed.

When people see my dire CV or my attempts at writing a bio they always have to remind me of the many good things I've done and then I end up all like "Ah yeah, but that was ages ago!". 

We spend so much time telling ourselves to "let go of the past" and "live in the now" while "working toward a better future"; so much so that the holes in the sieves that are our minds expand and everything goes. The bad stuff goes (sometimes but that stuff seems to stick like limescale to the element of a kettle... can you tell I'm facing my kitchen?) but also so does the good stuff!

We have great memories when it comes to tragedy and trauma. It's not only kept in our minds but the body knows the score and all that jazz. I just wish I could retain the amazing things just as clearly.

Again, I know I'm not alone in this so this is not some earth-shattering "Oh my god, me too!" moment. I promised myself I would get used to blogging again and this is what came into my head... Because I have to write a bio...

So I sit here writing this in yet another bid to avoid writing the bio. Earlier distractions included knitting a pair of legwarmers, cleaning my oven, and dancing about to my burlesque playlist. I mean I do avoidance really well but that's not something which I think would win me points on my bio/CV.

It doesn't help that my confidence has taken quite bashing over the last 6 months. Furlough bled into redundancy. My brain knows that redundancy is the position and not the person but, bloody hell, as break ups go, this was a toughie. I mean, now I sit here wondering what I'm actually good for, what should I do next, how do I pay rent... BLAH DI BLAH BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. (Just bit of frustration there)

I have decided to take some time off to work on some creative projects (which I have loads of) and therefore am calling myself a writer.

I told my kid not to tell people I am unemployed; tell them I am a writer. 

She has taken this request too far and now whenever anyone even mentions me to her she says "Mom's fine. She's a writer.", "Mom will send in a note. She's a writer.",  "Mom cut my hair. She's a writer.", and "The toilet is broken in our apartment. Mom is a writer."

Yeah... Need to have a chat with her about how the mom being writer thing should only come up if someone asks her what I do for a living.

So here I sit. With free time. A laptop. And many pens.

A writer who cannot write a bio. A writer who feels like she needs to keep her light under her bushel so as not to seem full of herself. A writer who is wasting your time just as much as her own by writing this.

But hey! It's writing!

Fine. I am awesome. I shall write the sodding bio... After I clean my windows.

(I'm sure I'll get better at this...)

No comments:

Post a Comment