Submit

Do I hit the button? I’ve asked myself that a thousand times since I began staring at the computer screen. I’ve been glued to this same screen for hours. I haven’t even switched tabs once. I just keep staring at this one little button. There’s no way I can hit it. ‘Submit.’ Such a simple word yet it brings about such feelings of anxiety.

My mouse hovers over the button. I tell myself I can just press it then close my laptop and run away. Of course, it’s never that simple. As soon as I hit the button my brain will start to run. What if it isn’t good enough? What if everybody hates it? Am I even cut out for this?

Friends and family have been pushing me for years to just take the chance. I wish I felt even half as sure as they were. Then again, maybe they were all lying to me. These are supposed to be the people closest to me. They would lie to me to protect my feelings, so how could I know if they were telling the truth. The only people to ever give me criticism were my professors in college, but that was literally their job. They probably weren’t actually interested in it anyways.

One of my ex boyfriends used to say that I would never make it. His words still ring in my ears to this day. I tell myself he was an asshole and only ever wanted to put me down anyways. That is, until I broke up with him. Then, he tried to convince me he could be better, but I had learned. I left him crying on our living room couch without even so much as a last glance over my shoulder. After that, a lot of my work focused on him.

A few of my friends had told me it was an unhealthy obsession, but, for me, it was therapeutic. For the first time in years, I felt free. Free to do what I want when I want. My mind felt free. I no longer felt trapped by just the mere thought of him. My work suddenly made me feel free. Every time I focused on him, I let more of him go.

Unfortunately, he still had a small hold on me. That hold all resided in this one button. I thought that if I could just hit ‘Submit’ I would officially be free of him once and for all. If only I could bring myself to push it. I felt trapped all over again. ‘Submit.’ Why can’t I just push the button?

My best friend would tell me that I’m being ridiculous. She would glare at me and tell me that the supposed judgments people made about my work were all in my head. She would tell me that I would never be successful if I didn’t take a chance and hit the damn button. I always argued that people would judge my writing and that my anxieties were real. She would ask me what’s the worst that could happen. I would say no one would ever respect me or my work again. That I would be crushed and unable to continue working. She would tell me I’m being over dramatic and that one little button wouldn’t hurt me. I would ask what if I was right and she would ask me what if I was wrong. After that, I’d carefully switch topics to something else. Anything else. Anything to stop thinking about my work and what would happen if I hit ‘Submit.’ Deep down inside, I knew my best friend was probably right about nothing bad happening.

I sigh. I drum my fingers on my laptop. I glance down at the clock. 12:33a.m. Four hours. Four hours I had been sitting there and debating with myself. On any other day I would have been in bed by 11p.m. since I woke up at 7 in the morning for my job. I would be lucky to get five hours of sleep tonight. It would probably be less. Unless I hit the button I tell myself. If I could only hit the button, I’d be in bed by 1 and I could get an okay six hours of sleep.

Okay. I take a deep breath. I’m going to do it. Afterall, what do I really have to lose? The worst that happens is I don’t win. It’s my first contest, so there’s no way I could win anyways. Despite trying to reassure myself, I know that when I don’t win, I will be crushed.

I remember what my therapist told me: you have to push yourself outside of your comfort zone. I know she’ll be disappointed in me if I go back in on Monday and tell her that I couldn’t do it. She won’t say she’s disappointed in me, but I’ll know that she is. I’m convinced I can see the disappointment in her eyes every time I take a step back in my healing process. I wish she would just tell me she’s disappointed. Instead, she is always kind and encouraging about my failings and it makes me feel worse than if she just said she was disappointed in me.

‘Submit.’ I know I’m going to be disappointed in myself if I don’t do it. How many times have I gotten to this part just to leave and pretend it never happened? More times than I can count. I can never decide if it’s going to be worth it in the end. I can never decide if it’s the right place to send my work. I can never decide if I even want to send out my work. Always, I panic and leave the page. Every. Single. Time.

But not this time I tell myself. This time it will be different. I can do it. I shut my eyes with my finger held over the laptop’s button. My anxiety had kept me trapped for far too long. It was time to just do it. Click. ‘Submit.’ My writing sent off to people I didn’t know and who would judge me for it. I was terrified. I was ready to go lock myself in the bedroom and cry. But it was done. I had done it. I was free. ‘Submitted.’