I am a terrible blogger. I started this blog with humble, yet ambitious intentions and there are so many interesting topics to discuss, films to review, opinions and social commentary to dissect and experiences to share. Yet, I can’t seem to write a single word.

I want to feel free to write real experiences and opinions, but I am genuinely petrified of how I will be received by my audience; if I even have one at all. I have always claimed that I don’t care what people think and have always advised others to do what feels best for them, to live their best life and not care about other’s opinions, but it is all a lie.

Even some of my closest friends have observed that I care too much about what other people think about me.

I mean, I really, really care.

To me, appearance is everything and it always has been. I would rather not try, than fail.

For example, in my later years as a competitive gymnast, I pretended that I didn’t particularly care and thus had a blasé attitude to competition. When I won it was just because I was fucking awesome and if I fell off and completely embarrassed myself, ‘oh well’. When I watched my fellow competitors really focused as they ran through their routines with headphones in their ears, I would be expecting greatness. I mean, ‘Olympic standard, wipe the floor with the rest of the competition’, greatness. But most of the time, their performances would be mediocre. Not necessarily in regards to their form and presentation of the skills- but in difficulty. I was completely underwhelmed.

I could never train to my full potential and so I would turn up to a competition and just do whatever I could muster, that day. Which, retrospectively, was still better than everyone else most of the time; but because I didn’t feel like my performances would warrant such dramatic public preparation, I made out like I would have rather been anywhere else, joking around with my friends as I stood at the end of the run up, presenting to the judges.

I would have never wanted anybody to look at me the way I did some of them. To see me give my all and not be the best of the field. I obviously, put in effort; but I never wanted it to seem like I cared about it. Especially because my health issues made my performances inconsistent. One can only appear to be completely invested in their success when they know they are incredible.

Despite all my accolades, I have never felt like anything I have done has been good enough. 

Maybe I haven’t quite found the right words to express my point, but we see it all the time in reality talent competitions on TV. When a person walks into an audition thinking they are God’s gift to earth and they open their mouth to sound like a dying cat, we mock and feel some pity for their delusions of grandeur. Or even when a person knows they are great and can actually back up their claims, as an audience we will always root for the person who humbly steps into the room not realising how talented they are when they have the voice of an angel, over the former.

From a really young age I have been successful in nearly everything I’ve done. So much so, that winning didn’t actually make me particularly happy. I was quite nonchalant about the whole thing. But if I lost? Well… (Dear Lord, I sound like Donald Trump; and that’s never a good thing. I need to reevaluate my life)

Please don’t mistake me, I’ve never expected to win and as much as you may read this and believe me to be entitled, I’m not. It’s just that because I have always been an ‘overachiever’ with a finger in many different pies, I have always felt a crippling pressure to be perfect. Or at least, seem perfect. Despite feeling like a sack of shit. And being the best, is literally the definition of perfection.

So…

Will anybody even read what I post? Does it matter if they don’t? Will people hate me? How honest is too honest? Am I trying to target too niche a market? Or will I be speaking too broadly and it won’t make sense to anybody? 

Let’s just not post anything. I would rather not have a shitty blog that nobody reads.

Since my accident, I am clearly flawed. Perfect people cannot be wheelchair bound. Just by looking at me, people know I’m not perfect and this is something I have been seriously struggling to accept. Like a car with scratches on the bumper you wouldn’t even want to take on a test drive because you already know there are better models.

I, like a lot of others, hold myself to an impossible standard. Therefore, all I do is worry about how I am perceived and overthink how people might respond to the controversial stories I have to tell.

But I ask, why do I care so much about these people that I feel have wronged me and their opinions? I can only speak my truth and if they feel it is harmful to them, as my favourite saying goes:

So, I guess, here goes nothing…