I realized that whenever I try to be a consistent writer on here, I flub it. The pressure to say the right thing and to say it in the right way defeats me, and I’m left with a corny title and a halfassed first sentence.
I think so much of it is because I fear what’s expected of me and I *whispers* don’t wanna fuck it up. Today I was connecting with a friend I hadn’t seen in a long time, and we got into how much the pressure piles when we turn a passion into something that feels a bit more… monetized.
Now writing isn’t just writing. It’s writing for Substack .. For the subscribers who will get it. Now yoga isn’t just a self-practice. It’s something I have to teach just right because there are bodies relying on me. It’s not just meditating. It’s making sure I understand the depths of this work for my clients. And so on.
Eyes I can’t see, expectations I’ve never actually confirmed but still feel. And in our chat, I realized something that felt both humbling and freeing:
We take this faux assumption, tie it into the belief that someone is asking this of us, and we perform accordingly — even if it guts us.
There’s a fine balance between doing what’s expected of you and aligning yourself with actions that feel good to your mind, body, and soul. This post is that balance for me.
It’s not me trying to write some peer-reviewed essay or profound thought-leader-y take. It’s just me sharing thoughts authentically and honestly.
It’s me rebelling against expectations that may not even be real, against the ones I’m not even aware of, and the ones I simply don’t care to fulfill. This is my rebellion against the saturation of wellness and the overconsumption of social media curation. Against the pressure to package everything as a product.
This is me saying: fuck that. this feels much better.
And look at that — we have a piece of writing to share.And it happened organically.
Until next time.
-Marr