Writers Worth: Fear Without Apology

There’s an honesty about Yolander Prinzel that is what I would call refreshingly disturbing.

It’s refreshing because she gives you her genuine feelings. It’s disturbing because her words often make you face the very shit you’ve been trying to cover and hide from.

I adore Yo because she’s never afraid to say what she’s thinking, but she’s not a mean-spirited person. She can tell you she hates something, but you’re not offended. You’re intrigued. Maybe it’s because a lot of what she has to say aligns with how I think. Or maybe it’s because I want to be like her in that way. She can engage full force, detach full stop. I’ve admired especially how she can remove herself from a conversation or a situation that isn’t healthy for her without apology or even a backwards glance (at least that’s how it seems).

When I asked her for a guest post, I left the opening for her to say no. She didn’t (amen). But I never expected the soul-baring she gave in return — 411 words that seem to have poured onto the page from a sliced vein. I read it and felt both fortunate and uncomfortable — fortunate because she really delivered beauty here: uncomfortable because once again, I was staring at my own fears.

But Yo’s post has already taught me something; sometimes it’s just best to pull the bandage off and let it sting for a minute. Then move forward.

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Fuck Fear

by Yolander Prinzel

Right now, at this very moment, I’m trying to figure out what to write this guest post about. The white page of the blank Word doc is mocking me. I’m thinking about how I’m afraid of everything—no, seriously, everything—and yet seem to have nothing to say about fear.

Then I remember to take my Prozac. Because that’s one of the things I need to deal with all the crap I’m afraid of.

For me, it’s OCD. Diagnosed by two doctors before I would believe it and finally do something about it, I never wanted to accept the diagnosis. But since I have and started taking medication, I no longer take 4-5 showers a day. The skin on my hands is soft and smooth instead of red and raw from constant washing. I no longer freak out at my husband for not following some odd mystery rule I made up to save us from contamination. I can sit in the soft chairs at Starbucks. I can have people over without making a mental note of what objects they came into contact with for later decontamination rituals.

Fear rules me in what my brain says are life-or-death situations—even when a tiny voice inside assures me they are not.

I just read over what I wrote. And all I keep thinking is, “Yeah, uh-huh, okay … and? How the hell does this fit into Writer’s Worth?” So now I’m afraid I’m going to let Lori down. That I’m going to come across as crazy to anyone who reads this.

Shit. What if a potential client Googles me and reads this?

Okay, I took a break. During that break, I thought about stuff … and things.

Here’s what I realized (just in time because I’ve got to wrap this up and, like a 30-minute sitcom, I need the upshot in here pretty quick): If you want to be a good writer, you need the courage to make yourself vulnerable. No matter what else (or how much) you fear, you must have the courage to show weakness and to be emotionally available. You also need the courage to hope—despite all your fears—that someone will read and understand what you wrote.

So every time you think your fears are in charge, yet you find yourself compelled to write and share with openness and honesty, remember this: you’re actually being ruled by courage.

Don’t be afraid to let that empower you.