As a child, I loved to write.  I don’t think you could keep a writing instrument out of my hand, even if you tried.  I started a family newspaper.  I wrote stories simply for fun.  I was the kid in class who relished the free writing essay assignment.  You simply couldn’t stop me.

But something happened over the course of my lifetime.  It’s not that I don’t like to write — it’s that I’m downright terrified to write.  What if the words I choose are inadequate?  How can I be sure that my written explanation satisfies the nuance and essence of the object I am trying to describe?  Does the comma go there?  What if someone disagrees with me?

To be honest, the last question is the one I grapple with the most.  What if someone disagrees with me?

Disagreement in conversation is easy.  I can see it coming before it’s even uttered aloud:   eyes narrow or dull, posture tightens, and the smile slowly, but surely, turns flat.  In my mind, I can draft the counterarguments, plaster a smile on my face, and, if need be (and only if need be), backtrack or apologize.  I feel like most individuals cannot handle disagreement in person — they prefer hiding behind words.  The most vicious things that have ever been said to me have been in e-mail.  However, I respond by saying, “Is there any way we can talk or meet in person to discuss this further?”  I want the feedback.  No, I need the feedback: live feedback with emotion, hand gestures, and voice pitch.

Writing, on the other hand, is a solitary activity where you cannot see how your audience will react to your words.  There is no way to gauge if the reader is engaging with your work or is unimpressed with your analogies.  As a commentator, you have to guess, in advance, how different audiences will react —better yet, how the audience you are targeting will react.  But what if you swing and miss?   The vitrolic comments come flying at you at lightening speed.  I’m simply not prepared for that.

One of the great things about the internet is that it has become a tool for social justice advocacy.  Anyone can launch a soapbox of their own, whether it be a tween or a respected journalist.  Tumblr, twitter, facebook, blogs, etc.  all use the written word as a way to spark progressive thinking and political activism.  It is as if the printing press has been reinvented; the entire world is writing and everyone is eagerly waiting for the next thing to read.

As an activist, I desperately want to be part of this revolution. I want to espouse feminist theory and critique the politics happening on Capitol Hill. Yet every time I start to type, that little voice of doubt whispers, “how do you know you’re right?  is that really the best way to describe it?  just leave it to the ‘professionals’ — they’ll know how to say it better.”  I look at my own tumblr account and I see over 20 drafts that were never published.  I have a flashdrive full of essays I hoped to submit to magazines.  But that little voice made me afraid of actually becoming a writer.  What if someone disagreed with me?

It’s silly how that little voice is the thing that keeps me from writing.  I am not known for keeping quiet in meetings, and I have been arrested for refusing to stop protesting. And really, I am completely fine with being disagreed with in person.  So why does writing make that much of a difference?  More importantly, why am I so afraid to claim the words I write when I am not afraid to take ownership of the things I say?

I don’t have answers to my own questions.  But fear be damned, there are simply too many issues in the world — writing must be part of my daily routine.  Without it, my personal politics and activism will wither in the fear of criticism, something I believe thwarts most from standing up from what they believe in.

Am I the only one? Has this happened to you?