Feel the fear…

I have been immersed in my interpretive work most of the day again, but I’ve broken off, firstly because I need a break (my eyes are going glassy from close reading and writing), and secondly because¬†I felt the fear rise in my gorge.

I’ve noticed over the last sixth to eight months that I’ve been really trying to engage in this that I spend most of my time approaching my interpretive work (what most research would term ‘analysis’) from a ‘terrified’ place. I’m afeared of it making my own eating disorder kick, worried that I can’t do justice to the stories I have, concerned about the usefulness and rigour of my process and frightened that I’ll end up taking forever to get through this because it’s so time-consuming doing it this way.

I’m not saying any of this amounts to anything but I thought it was useful to journal it out and externalise it more.