Ownership and Fear

I haven’t stopped telling my story. I stopped sharing it.

I took a Memoir in a Year class last year, along with a number of other creative writing classes, and shared plenty.

I got comfortable sharing.

I got comfortable exposing deep wounds, some fresh, and an obsessive thought process bent on destruction.

Yet I remain uncomfortable with my name in print, my byline visible, telling myself I prefer being in the background. I prefer to let others take the credit though part of me wants to race front and claim my part.

Own my part.

There’s hesitancy around the word “ownership” for me. I own little. No house. No car. A few gadgets, most of which I can part without thinking. Lots of books, but as moving from Vancouver to Chicago taught me, and showed again moving from Chicago to San Francisco, I can part with books, too.

I don’t take possession. I don’t own.

That is OK for physical things like cars and such, but is it OK for the intangible things? Does a lack of ownership of fear, say, present a problem?

Yes.

I’m fearful of having my name in public. When I first joined Twitter, I didn’t use my name, or a head shot. For more than a year.

I may have convinced myself I prefer the shadows. Light can reach even the darkest corners, however, and evidence continues to pile up to the contrary.

Fear presents itself front and center.

How do you overcome such fear?

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