effort can't be quantified.

my therapist and I meet every other week. This week, substack is my therapist.

it’s been a rough last few weeks, and I am questioning if I should even send this out.

The quarter is coming to it’s end, and the work is starting to pile up. It’s tough both mentally and emotionally. Keeping track of what is due when, where to put your attention, stay motivated. It’s hard, but it’s something we all have to do as little journalism students.

Maybe it’s the timing of it all that i’ve just become more sensitive. And something that many people probably don’t know is that I am the most sensitive person you’ll probably meet. I used to cry whenever I got in trouble, got yelled at, was made fun of. I remember I had a coach in high school who loved to yell and throw their hat or break their clipboard when anyone made a mistake. Or they made the entire team run suicides except for the person who messed up the drill to show them that it was their fault and they need to be better for those around them. I tried to never be that person because I knew it would end with me sobbing in my car in my high school’s parking lot.

Sensitivity is not a bad thing. I think it helps me when doing reporting because I am not tone-deaf to other’s emotions or feelings. Being as sensitive as I am though, sometime’s I think it impedes on how I do my job, because the day I get rando’s in my twitter mentions calling me out and telling me I suck might be the day I quick this profession.

I have never been one to handle criticism well. Which is strange, given what I do gets read by people who have opinions and love to say how i’m wrong and they are right. Some days I think that maybe I did choose the wrong career. Someone could point out a spelling error and it would probably send my heart racing. Someone can come for me and call me a NARP (true story, by the way) and i’ll act like i’m not phased but deep down it felt like they pushed me in front of a moving bus.

Couple all those emotions with being a perfectionist, and you get someone like me who has just felt like they’ve been run over and the person driving the car had to back over me to make sure I was actually dead.

I think it’s hard to not get upset when what you do is constantly over-analyzed. I am sure that over the years your skin gets tougher (or you turn off your twitter notifications. Either comes with growing up I think). People start to get to you less.

Recently though, in the last few weeks, it’s felt like every interaction I have had with people has been an overwhelming attack on me and my character. And I could be overthinking all these situations, but I’ve been left with questions swirling in my head like do these people ACTUALLY like me? Do they think i’m a fraud? Am I fraud? Am I just as annoying as I think I am? Am I good enough? Should I be doing this? Am I really not putting in enough effort?

The reason why I am questioning sharing is because I don’t want people out there who may think that I am overreacting, or again, being too sensitive. I was once told that if feel so strongly about something, you should share it. I made this to be casual with my writing, because it’s so unbelievably taxing to try and act like everything in the last two weeks hasn’t effected me.

This substack this week is for me. I don’t have a fun story to tell you, reader, and I am sorry for that. This week has felt so invalidating and has made me feel so small. So, here is me responding to myself and my whirlpooling thoughts that lead me to sleepless nights overthinking and crying. Let me set the record straight before anyone else tries to invalidate me, my work, or my character (myself included). Let me remind myself why I am here, doing this whole thing.

I have worked incredibly hard to be where I am at. I am a kid from a tiny town in southern Connecticut that no one has ever heard of and went to a college that not many have even heard of. So many people tried to tell me that journalism is not a stable career and that there is no money in it and I told them all I didn’t care. This is what I am passionate about, and I am going to continue to be passionate about it. Effort to me isn’t measured by who’s first on a story or who has something flashy to show. Effort to me is the grind in preparation, attention to detail while writing, the compassion and understanding you share in the interview process with your subject, and the authenticity of each piece. Don’t try to tell me I am not putting in the work when you don’t know how much work it took to even get here.

At the end of the day, I just want to write and share stories. That’s all i’ve ever wanted to do. Everyone has had a time where they question what they are doing, I’m sure. I’m ready to take a deep breath, wipe away my tears, and continue writing the stories I have been working on that mean so much to me.

Put that in your grade book, your twitter replies, or even in your comment to this.

---

this made no sense and probably should have stayed a draft. but maybe one of you out there is feeling the same way. you aren’t alone. keep working, it’ll all be rewarded in the end. i’m sure of it. we’re in this together.

until next time,

mack