Four Years Ago, A Quiet Battle with Envy
They say the more you do things, the better you get at them. This is true, but the issue for me was finding the motivation to continue after seeing how bad I was at it.
I didn’t start drawing and painting until about four years ago. I took my first art class at a community college, and was blown away by the talent of other students. There was this incredibly gifted girl named McKenna. I remember her auburn hair in a messy bun, and the way her freckles would move on her cheeks as she smiled, which happened often.
She was younger than me by a year or two at the time, so I found myself in a position of being a role-model to her to some degree. I had two years of college at a four- year university under my belt, and she had only ever been in community college. She barraged me with questions.
“What are the classes like there? Are they different than community college?”
“What did you major in?”
“What kind of jobs can you get with that major?”
“Why are you here now then?”
I could’ve gotten upset with these questions– I could have interpreted these as an indication that she thought my life was going downhill, but I was too preoccupied with guilt to come to that conclusion. She was such a sweet and pure person– she reminded me a lot of myself, just a year or two younger.
I was clouded in a fugue of jealousy over what I perceived to be her natural talent for drawing all the same.
The Confrontation, and Cheese
One day, I was honest with her during our scheduled ten minute break from class. The two of us had a ritual where we would walk to the cafeteria together, and talk about how class was going. There was a middle aged woman who sold food in the cafeteria there. I’d ask her for a grilled cheese, and she would always make it fresh. I would wait patiently at the table with McKenna as the aroma of cheese floated in the air, greatly testing my patience.
McKenna would unwrap the clingwrap from her premade turkey sandwich that she bought from the woman. It had lettuce and tomato, but she would always pick the tomato off her sandwich.
“McKenna, I am so jealous of you whenever I see your work. You’re ridiculously talented.”
“You’re great, too, Claire!”
“Not like you though. You need to be applying for scholarships, girl.”
“Grilled cheese is ready!” the lunch lady called.
I left before getting a response from her, and returned back with my sandwich. It came in a parchment paper bag, the sides of it damp with grease. I pulled the golden ooze from the bag and sucked on my fingers as I dabbed the sandwich lightly with a napkin.
After continuing to savor my sandwich a few moments more, I became aware of the silence between us.
She picked at her sandwich, avoiding eye contact with me.
“You really think so?”
I nodded vigorously, both in response to her question, and also trying to shake loose the cheese that trailed from my mouth after I had bitten into the sandwich.
She giggle at me softly before giving a gentle exhale. She took the top piece of bread off of her sandwich, and picked out the tomato, and held it in front of the cafeteria light, gazing at the light that shone through the holes.
“I really don’t think I’m all that great– there are so many people who are better than me.”
It dawned on me at that moment what while I held her skill on a pedestal above my own, she was doing the same thing with her own work. She explained to me how she had been drawing for years now, and that while she had seen some progress in her abilities as she continued to practice– her sense that she still had so much more to improve outweighed any sense of achievement she felt.
I fell silent. I felt the irony weighing heavy in the air.
When you’re constantly looking for perfection, you don’t notice when you’ve attained it.
The question becomes how will you ever know when you’ve become good enough, then?
It’s a paradox– what you may think is worthless, another person may think is priceless beyond measure. There are no universal guidelines of value for anything, and yet we as a collective consciousness live by this code nonetheless.
Needing an Outsider
As I continue to write more habitually, I notice subtle changes in myself– tiny improvements in skill. I’m at the point where I’m confident enough to want to share with others what I want to write. I’m working on promoting myself with social media. As I brainstorm posts, reels, and stories to promote my blog, I find that I didn’t want to post anything of my voice, or talking.
I got my hair cut this week, and I shared with my hair stylist the piece that I wrote for my Grandfather’s funeral. As I read it, my body began to quiver – I was overwhelmed with spirit. I felt the power in my words, and the energy that I had captured when I wrote it. When I was done reading, she told me it was beautiful. I thanked her, and attempted to settle myself, embarrassed.
As we talked, I told her about my blog and my latest post about the difference between transmuting and wallowing in emotions. My body continued to shake uncontrollably as I spoke. The middle of my forehead, my third eye, began to throb, and a headache throbbed in my skull. But I continued to ignore it.
I showed her my recent Instagram post promoting my blog.
She was silent for a moment.
“Why don’t you have any videos of you? That’s what I’m looking for.”
“I feel that when I write, I have such a strong tone of contemplation that I can’t properly convey in my personality. Typically, people on social media who are trying to promote spirituality have long flowing hair, can talk in an effective way, and come across as wise. I can’t do that. I’ve been called ‘ditsy’ before. Some people have even told me that when they first met me, they expected me to be dumber. I don’t want to sacrifice my writing voice for my actual voice.”
She frowned at me. “Didn’t you just get through explaining to me that fear is something that you need to work through? And here you are, scared and telling other people not to be scared.”
I broke out in a smile. “You got me.”
Here again, I was caught in the paradoxical metric of value by comparing myself to others. This one was so strong that it took someone else to point it out to me. That is the complexity of a shadow entity.
The Nature of Shadows
As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, doubt, fear, and skepticism are not organic to our true, divine selves. They are an infiltration of inorganic forces attempting to prevent us from fully embracing our power– possession is another word for it one could use. The most problematic issue that arises from these possessions is that most people do not realize that these thoughts that they have are not them. We have become so intermingled with these shadows that we mistake them for ourselves.
We are beings of light and creation. Reflections of God. We have the infinite power of Creation within us. And yet we are limited with thoughts as simple as, “I’m not good enough,” or, “I’m not worthy enough.” Do you see the utter senselessness?
As I progress further in my journey, I’ve had so many powerful encounters with my divine self that completely go beyond anything that I thought was humanly possible. I have been shown the proof time and time again of my true nature as a divine being– yet I still have these doubts that linger.
Know that these doubts serve a purpose, and by allowing them to prosper, you are allowing yourself to be stagnant. This is far easier said than done– trust me, I know. I am still battling these entities to this day.
Some days they are complacent and quiet, and other days I feel that I am shouting in a dark room of disembodied voices, screaming to hear my own over the chatter.
The next time you hear that voice, I encourage you to pay careful attention to it. Don’t let it sit in silence.
Recently, in a session with one of my mentors, he spoke on confronting your shadows.
“A lot of us have this vow of silence when it comes to these thoughts that our Shadows form, and we try to push them away and ignore it. This is exactly the reason why they don’t go away. Just like when a child is upset, you need to let it express itself so that it can work its way through you. The next time you have a thought formed by your shadow– say it out loud. You’ll soon realize how ridiculous it sounds.”
Shine the light on your shadow, and watch how quickly it vanishes.
The Wayward Minds Collective 
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