About Me — Jane Levy
I think I’ve just scraped the bottom of the excuses barrel — time to give writing a go.
Hello, fellow writers!
Jane here. As I attempted to convey in the subtitle, I’ve just about depleted my reserve of excuses for why I can’t pursue a career in writing. Once and for all, I’ve chosen to expose these flimsy rationalizations to the harsh light of introspection (admittedly, some of them were pretty darn convincing). In other words, I’m no longer tolerating them and their relentless assault on my potential. Throughout the entirety of my adult life, I’ve allowed them to dictate what I do and don’t do, and this, unfortunately, has led to more missed opportunities than I’d care to acknowledge.
Though I’ve encountered fleeting moments of inspiration over the years — instances where I dared to dream of becoming a writer — these have invariably been overtaken by fear and self-doubt, features that have long dominated my inner landscape. Now, as I draft my ‘About Me’ description, I do so with a mix of trepidation and excitement. These emotions tug at me from opposite directions, pulling me back and forth. And yet, I forge ahead. It is my hope that, as I gain experience and grow in confidence, the self-defeating chatter will gradually soften to a whisper. I wonder what sorts of thoughts will emerge then…are there voices that, once timid, will begin to make themselves heard?
A bit about my background: I’m a graduate of NYU with a master’s in childhood and special education. Prior to grad school, I studied psychology and English at Wesleyan University. During the pandemic and shortly after finishing at NYU, I found myself engulfed in a debilitating depressive episode. This wasn’t new to me, as I’ve struggled with mental illness since early adolescence, but it was different, somehow — starting slowly and stealthily for a couple of months, and then swallowing me whole. This state of turmoil persisted for years, largely due to my indecision about my life’s direction. Despite having a master’s and plans to become a teacher, I had no interest in actually becoming one. This is something I had known for some time, but not something I was ready to confront.
As far as I could tell, I was completely and utterly stuck; I believed it was too late to change course. If I’m being honest, I also had a severe case of Peter Pan Syndrome. I wasn’t willing to say goodbye to childhood (even though I was already well into my twenties), and I was simply terrified of leaving behind academia and entering the real world. Since I couldn’t call myself a student anymore, what could I call myself? Who was I to be?
Given my penchant for psychology, I would be remiss not to include a brief overview of my own personality as I understand it. With regard to the introvert-extrovert spectrum, my temperament falls decisively within the former camp (I’m sure many in this community would characterize themselves in this way). According to the Myer-Briggs Type Indicator, I am an INFJ. While it isn’t a perfect assessment tool, I resonate with it far more than I ever have with astrology. I’ve never bought much into horoscopes, however fun they may be, and don’t especially see myself in “Libra.”
Another thing about me is that I’m highly sensitive in nature. I’ve often been told by others that I’m fragile and delicate. “You need a thicker skin” is something I’ve heard on more occasions than I can count. Though this acute sensitivity has its downsides, I’ve come to perceive it as a beautiful thing as well. In recent years, I’ve stopped trying so hard to mask this aspect of myself, recognizing this to be a mostly futile and energy-depleting exercise. I’ve decided, instead, to swim with the currents of my temperament. It’s much less tiring this way.
As I continue to carve out my path as a writer and storyteller, I’m eager to connect with those of you who are embarking on similar journeys! I’d love to hear about your own experiences and what brings you to writing. There’s no question that a few reading this have also arrived here unexpectedly.
