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An Open Letter to Doran Lamb for When Your Inner Critic Says ‘Worthless’
Some of us understand
Dearest Doran,
Caterpillars are so ugly.
We recently adopted some in our living room. They arrived as cute little wrigglers and quickly grew into beasts, almost as long and fat as my fingers. They became furry, squidgy, and the color of vomit. Not pretty.
They’re now cocooned and we are watching for the day they emerge.
I’m writing to you in quarantine because you shared about the feeling that you’re a useless, worthless writer and that you’ll never succeed.
You wrote:
“My inner critic… used to be buried deep, but right now she’s back in charge [and] I could not tell you one thing I have ever done well in my entire life.”
You explained why you’ll never make it as a writer.
I’m with you. I’ve spent decades feeling like I’ll never make it as a writer. I still feel it at times. Though since I started pouring out words, the feeling is less pronounced.
So I know something of what it’s like. The self-doubt, the self-loathing, telling myself I’ll never be enough. Questioning my whole purpose. Asking myself why I’m here, who I am, and what life’s for if I’m not…
