Highs and Lows, Flow and Self Doubt

An honest account of what it feels like to follow my natural rhythm; the ebb and flow that comes with it; the mess; the creativity; the tears; the energy. All wrapped up in one, in me.

I was on such a creative high.

It always starts like this.

I was in the zone, in flow, in hyper focus. There is no magic way to get in the zone, sometimes it just happens, the stars seem to align, and I just go. The energy is just right, the creative juices flowing. It feels amazing when it happens, especially when it’s around something that’s been on my to do list but I haven’t quite found my way in yet.

I decided to write.

I created this Substack account, wrote thousands of words within a couple of days, played with a logo, a name, added pictures. Part of me wanted to just post everything right away, to get it out there, to say I did it, to share my thoughts with the world. It felt great, it did. I loved the flow of creativity; I felt energized; and I felt confident in leaning into it, which meant skipping grocery shopping, and leaving the dinner table mess, and not reading Harry Potter to my kids. This was my moment, and I went for it, enjoying it, putting everything else on hold for a moment (and yes, letting my husband pick up some of the pieces) and not feeling guilty.

And then I hit “publish” on a Monday and my brain considered it done. Completed.

Great, right? Task completed! Insert feelings of accomplishment and satisfaction and confidence.

Nope, not for my brain.

I have always felt a discrepancy between how I come across to others and how I feel on the inside. On the outside, I look like I have my shit together (for the most part). Look at me, posting actively and bravely on LinkedIn; writing on Substack; embarking on this new journey as a coach. Yes, vulnerability is sprinkled in throughout and I make a conscious effort to be authentic; and it is authentic. It’s me talking, not some robotic version of me. And yet, there’s a lot that remains hidden behind the scenes.

I want to talk about those things as well.

As aspiring coaches, we’re often told not to let people see the messy parts; people come to you with their messy parts; they want to know that you have made it through to the other side and you are ready to help them; they don’t want to see the mess in the middle, they want to hear how you’ve done it and know that they can do it too.

I think that’s bullshit. Maybe not all of it, but some of it.

First of all, there is no “other side”. An increase in self awareness and self trust doesn’t mean it’s not still fucking messy sometimes. That’s just reality and anyone, coach or not, who makes promises that you can turn your life around and feel nothing but bliss and happiness all day every day is lying to you; and maybe to themselves.

And secondly, we are all in this together, connected in ways we don’t even fully comprehend; and as a human being, I often just want to be seen and understood, to make sense and to belong. And by sharing the messy bits, I hope I can create a sense of belonging for you, too.

Maybe this approach is bad for marketing, who knows, but I know that I wouldn’t want to work with someone who makes it seem like they have all of their shit together all of the time. I wouldn’t believe them; I wouldn’t trust them.

Let’s go back to the moment I hit publish after days of hyper focus. Energy and creativity had been running high for days; I had felt excited and vibrant.

Until I started to notice a different part of me.

The voices were quiet at first. They had been there all along, keeping me company, but had been pushed aside, drowned out by the energetic and daring ones. Now they wanted to be heard.

You’re not good enough.

You can’t do it.

You will never look at this again. Better hold off on posting more, because you need those back up articles.

You won’t write again after today. Ever. You never do, you never stick with it.

This is done now, so hold on to it as long as you can. Before they all find out, this was just a fraud.

You’re no good at this. You won’t keep it up. So why even begin?

You’re not good at any of this.

It always starts with the voices; the self doubt. I started noticing other changes on Tuesday. Things were catching up. Despite all of my brain activity during the day, I couldn’t sleep at night. My thoughts were frazzled, it took me longer to make connections, to ask the right question, to form clear sentences.

I went to bed with my noise canceling headphones that evening. I was so very very tired and exhausted but I didn’t sleep well. That night, I listened to my audio book for hours, hoping to fall asleep, but I just lay there, listening to the story unfold until the early morning hours.

On Wednesday, tears arrived. First I thought it was all because of an emotional last session of my coaching training. We had shared words of appreciation, it was lovely, and once the Zoom meeting ended, I just sat there for a while and cried.

I started to lose my ability to speak that afternoon.

I don’t have very many words left is what I tell my children when I pick them up from school, and they understand. They know. All noise is too much; 20 minutes at school pick up is too intense; I can’t engage with people, avoided eye contact even more than I usually do, hiding in my bubble. At home, I find myself just standing there, in the kitchen. I have the ingredients and a plan but somehow can’t execute it; I can’t figure out how to make dinner. Thankfully I have Impossible chicken nuggets and sweet potato fries in the freezer.

When my husband gets home he takes over and I go to bed. I cry; not sad tears but the exhausted kind; I make myself get up when it is time to leave for our kids’ evening activities. My daughter encourages me to go to my swim lessons which feels surprisingly good.

The following morning, after I had gone through the motions to get my children to school, I took my dog Kylo for a walk and the tears resumed. I just let them be, hiding behind my sunglasses. I felt comforted by the fact that I was seeing my therapist later that morning.

I talked, I cried, I created art. Then I cried some more.

And then, slowly, the fog began to clear as I sat outside with my dog and my journal, the sun warming my back.

That was three days ago. I am back at it, writing, the way I enjoy it, stream of consciousness, words that feel meaningful, even if they’re too much, too personal, too honest. We’ll see how much of this I will actually publish when the time comes. (Write when you’re emotional. Edit when you’re not.) My energy is back; I’ve re-emerged.

me, back at it, writing this post, okay on the other side

Maybe that is the lesson after all: that I can trust that I’ll come back to it when I am ready.

I feel differently about my low days today than I used to. I’m no longer so ashamed of it; I no longer beat myself up for it or pretend it isn’t happening. It might feel really really shitty in the moment (great use of emotions words, Hanna!), but I also know that I can let it happen and I will come out okay on the other side. Maybe it’s the price I pay for allowing myself the high days, the flow, the zone, and I wouldn’t want to miss out on those moments.