It's a cage fight, and I have no hope of winning
"If not writer, why writer-shaped?" part 2
In a previous post I introduced this metaphor of a cage fight between “my deeply-ingrained identity as a writer and this recent set of anti-writing emotions—and anti-writing habits—are at war with one another. If a person’s identity and behavior clash, one or the other will eventually change.
There are two narratives at war here.
In one of them, identity wins. You adopt the new identity and your behavior follows, perhaps haltingly at first. Eventually, though, your new behaviors settle into new habits that displace the old ones that fought for supremacy, and the new identity (the self-concept) is supported by your actions. (And, eventually, your achievements, at least to some degree!)
In the other, habitual behavior wins. Exceptions and distractions begin to crowd out the core behaviors that go with your old identity. Eventually, new habits completely undermine the old identity, and at some point you must call a spade a spade: that’s not who you are anymore. You’re something different. Something typified by what you most consistently do.
Reality is rarely so simple. Humans are complicated. Our minds churn with conflicting thoughts, desires, attitudes, choices and reflexive responses. Identity is a complex and contextual mosaic of roles and affinities. But when “what I want to do, I do not do, and what I do not want to do, I do,” it goes beyond the usual dynamism. Entropy has had the upper hand over Creativity in me for too many months now.
As I wrestled with my inner dissonance Tuesday night, trying to figure out why I can’t just do the things, just be the writer I have always been,
The old long-debunked model of Id, Ego, and Superego is still kinda helpful if we redefine it a little bit to serve our (my!) purposes.
Let’s say Ego is who you are right now, thinking in a clear-headed, realistic way: not pessimistic or optimistic, set aside past and future. The strengths and weaknesses you are aware of right now. Who you are. Your identity.
Let’s say Superego is your inner voice that calls you to be the best, most responsible, most effective version of you. Like your your conscience, your inner parent or inner coach; you at max willpower, alertness, and energy. The you that you aspire to be.
Then your Id would be the impulsive you, the irresponsible you, maybe the drunk or intoxicated or unfiltered you, or just you when you’re exhausted and you’ve run out of willpower. The you that would run your life into the ground if it were always in charge. The you that you fall into sometimes.
Here’s the thing: almost all the most popular advice and training and models for success that are out there in the publishing world are coming from the Superego, or they appeal to the Superego.
And almost all the most popular funny memes about the publishing world and the writing life are coming from the Ego: “keepin’ it real, folks.” Or, if they are Id moments, they are seen from the perspective of the Ego: “That moment when you [embarrass yourself somehow]: [share image or video clip].”
The Superego would scold, the Id would justify it, only the Ego appreciates the irony of such a moment. Same with positive: “That moment when you […triumph!].”
The Superego justifies it as well deserved, or takes it for granted.
The Id just enjoys the endorphins.
Only the Ego properly savors that moment, knowing it is probably rare.
We spend all our time in our Ego, and listening to Superego.
We don’t notice Id or pay much attention to it, because we don’t usually hear it. We feel it. When it’s operating in its normal range it adds emotional color, decor, and soundtrack to Ego’s perspective, so Ego takes the credit for Id’s contributions to the conscious human experience!
We consciously feel our emotions in the Ego.
If the Id is acting up, we might laugh at its antics, sigh and endure its drama, or—if you’re anything like me—implacably jam a roiling Id “back into place” in our subconscious until it is not longer a distraction.1
But the Id, out of sight of our conscious mind, is where our emotions live and move and have their being.
Emotions are born, grow, live, and intermingle in the Id. That’s where our desires and fears are strongest, that’s where our motivation and expectation are actually shaped.
We ignore and alienate our Id at our peril.
I did so for years.
It effectively killed my writing, and my business stagnated at a certain level that appeared successful but showed very little growth.
My scorned and neglected little Id grew into a monster. I can only be grateful that it didn’t drive me to substance abuse or something worse, because I now know it certainly could have. It has that power.
We ignore and alienate our Id at our peril.
Thankfully, one of my first insights was that this monster in me that drove my self-sabotage was actually on my side. My Id didn’t think it was sabotaging me at all. It thought it was protecting me, nurturing me!
Because if you set out to do something risky and you (your Ego) haven’t gotten your whole mind and heart fully on board with it, those other two parts of you will do their level best to stop you from taking that risk.
Your Superego will nag you with its own thoughts and doubts and accusations. It’ll “should” all over you.
Your Id will assail you with emotion, or drain you of energy like a vampire. It’ll sweep your legs out from under you and leave you wondering what happened …or sometimes, leave you wondering how you could possibly do such a thing. (Your hurt, angry, or terrified Id is you, even (perhaps especially?) when it makes you act out of character!)
It’s not just me. I had one client who was viscerally incapable of advertising his own book, or allowing it to be advertised—it was difficult for him to even accept payment for it from someone in person—because his Superego was convinced that “mArkeTiNg” was a morally bankrupt attempt to manipulate other people into giving you their money.
This belief was so entrenched that his Id fully supported the Superego’s attempts to stop him. Once, while reading a book I gave him about marketing (one of Russell’s books, actually) he suddenly got so angry that he threw it across the room hard enough to leave a mark on the wall. His fear of marketing was so intense he felt nauseous when he practiced a pitch. And yet, the logical part of him was convinced it was necessary if he was ever going to sell any books beyond his own closest friends and a few family members.
Anger and fear don’t come from the Superego (though it wishes it possessed that kind of power). They come from the subconscious impulsive mind, the Id.
As a book coach I was able to help my client overcome the tormenting guilt (Superego) and the paralyzing feelings (Id) so that he could market his books without shame. I even made a few videos with him that might help others overcome the same crippling convictions and emotions.2
But I haven’t been able to coach myself out of my own paralysis.
Why?
I know this is an oversimplification of what I am doing to emotions I don’t want to face, but it’s the insight I have right now. I am normally comfortable with emotions, at least the cognitive-awareness part of me thinks I am… but some other part of me, perhaps also within my subconscious mind, is NOT OKAY with some emotions, or with some intensities of emotions. Those get locked up so deep in the dungeon that it’s hard to track them down and free them later.