Women thinking

& the benefits of doubt

I go back and forth when I get ready to write. I always convince myself I need to read more. I love reading—it’s a journey, it’s knowledge, it’s daydreaming, it’s puzzling, it’s finding connections and explanations. It’s a kind of flow, trance state. 

Writing, on the other hand, is not. I love it, need it, but it’s always demanding and hard. Hard to put the connections on the page in a way that I feel it in my mind, that isn’t just a description, but a feeling, a sense of questioning, of not knowing but asking more.

But I always surprise myself when I find a declarative sentence looking back at me on the page. I worry I’m trying too hard to convince myself. And others. I always doubt before hitting publish. And after.

Women are so conditioned to doubt our selves, our bodies—although I’d hazard a guess that self-doubt is inscribed on the bodies of all non-white men and hell, even some white men. Doubt is a part of not wielding power.

For women particularly, though, there’s a profound sense…