I don’t really know what I’m doing here. All I know is, a voice inside my head this morning said “share your story” to which I replied, “I want a sandwich.” 
  
The Fear popped up. The Fear says: 
  
You’re a songwriter, if even that – not a writer. 
Confessional writing is self-absorbed and overdone. 
You’ll give it up just like everything else.  
and the worst: 
  
They will judge you. 
  
I wonder if every writer goes through this. The insane battle to shut off the voices that persist every time a new project or idea presents itself. The Fear shows up in full battle gear every time I start a new song. So instead, I manage to fill my schedule or my brain through other means. 
  
I quit drinking two weeks ago. Well, actually, I quit drinking two months ago and had a few slips along the way. I am a recovering bulimic. I’ve isolated and used food, pills, and booze more times than I can count to slow me down, speed me up, and fill in the spaces. The Space Fillers always lead me right back to where I started, except weighed down or worse. Ambivalent. 
  
So I keep reaching outside myself for answers: the next great self-help book, guru, or 5-Step Solution to Living Your Purpose. 
  
I think leaning into The Fear is the solution. Today, I’m afraid of admitting I’ve struggled off and on with an eating disorder for thirteen years. That I’m on a journey to feel the good and the bad without a filter with the hope that there’s light on the other side. That I’ve allowed the thing that I love so much – making music – to become an iron stove. 
  
Today I also wrote for an hour. As they say in the program, Easy Does It.