I've been working on my writing on and off for years. Writing has always been my safe space — an escape, a place to gather my thoughts and get my house in order. Whenever I write, I lose myself, only to find that I've transcended to a place that defies every emotion while encapsulating them simultaneously.
I don't know if it was fear or the lack of trust in my talents but, I could never bring myself to publish and, that's the kicker. I wanted to be more than a voice only I could hear and perfectionism almost silenced me completely.
If you're a planner like me, taking action without a crystal-clear vision is maddening. It creates a feeling of anxiety and frustration. And when that plan gets hindered or altered in any way, all hell could break loose. For me, all those low-vibration feelings would surface, and that deep dark abyss seemed to swallow me up if everything wasn't perfectly placed—scary stuff.
It's not that all those feelings and negative thoughts disappeared. Nah! Oh how I wish that were the case but, if you're wondering how I got to the point where you're reading this, here's the tea:
For a long time, my writing took the sidelines. I spent time planning and preparing for the right time to focus on my writing. There always seemed to be something more important than what was important to me, there was always something that needed my undivided attention.
Over time, I created numerous pieces and tucked them away. I kept telling myself — breaking it down into tiny steps in my planner — that I’d put together a proper strategy. Then, I’d finally be ready to launch.
Yet every time I sat with my writing, it meant sitting with myself — and getting organized felt daunting. I eventually realized that my idea of being “ready” would never come. Each piece I wrote, infused with my essence, risked fading into obscurity.
This was the most painful part. I felt guilty. I felt underwhelmed. I was straight-up depressed because a part of me knew what I needed to be doing — yet, for the life of me, I couldn’t do it. Instead, I was doing myself a disservice. I convinced myself I was laying the groundwork — tirelessly preparing and perfecting project after project. But perfection got me nowhere.
I was writing, yes, but I had unwittingly planted my roots where my buds wouldn’t bloom. That once booming voice had turned into whispers.
And so, here I sit — fingers gliding over an illuminated keyboard — attempting to listen so I can start from scratch (because nothing should feel more real than the present) and unanswered questions still haunt me. What exactly does this voice sound like — the one I intend to share with the world? Should this blog represent a heavily curated persona, polished and planned to perfection? Maybe, for the likes, it should.
You see, readers, perfection isn’t entirely to blame for the delay in publishing. The truth is, I had stopped listening to my authentic voice. I was in a state where I no longer recognized my own being. And now, I’d rather share whatever version of myself exists in this moment — even if it’s messy or unpolished. No more over-editing. No more second-guessing. Raw and unfiltered. It was never about the likes; it was about allowing myself to simply be.
So, who does this voice belong to? I’m a mother, a wife, a sister, and a seeker. I am frank — though I don’t go by that name. My days of overplanning and under-executing my authentic self are over. Now, I see that imperfect planning makes for a truly authentic introduction.
On this blog, I intend to share my journey and the lessons I’ve learned, with the hope that you too might find them freeing or insightful. Here’s to new beginnings. Here’s to striking the balance and embracing the purest form of the self.
If holistic lifestyle content resonates with you — from parenting to spirituality — join me as we explore the many facets of life. I’m Jebu Vivet, and here, we’re EIRE. Welcome.