I write

I want to write more.

I have lots of ideas about things I’m passionate about that I want to share. I want to engage in conversations with people and hear their reflections. I want to break out of my own network bubble. I feel the best way to do this is to write, publish, share, and see who bites.

I feel a lot of pressure to write. Pressure I put on myself of course, but I feel my career will be stinted if I don’t write. I look around and see lots of successful people sharing their ideas, raising their profile, viewed as leaders amongst their peers. It seems like the thing you must do to become seen as a leader. Being someone willing to say things publicly.

I believe we need to see more diversity in whose ideas, stories and narratives are marked in time and history through publishing. I hate to see us left with a narrow range of perspectives to look back on as ‘accurate’ accounts of what’s going on in the world. What’s captured and heard has so much influence on what people think, feel, say and do.

I say all this, but I really really struggle with writing — and it infuriates me.

Earlier this year, I wrote a blog about something I’m really passionate about, and something I know well — sharing my reflections as BAME Network Chair. It’s a short piece, yet it took me over 2 months to write it. I spent several evenings and weekends on it. I joined a writing group to force me to dedicate more time to it. I asked my husband, my friends and colleagues for their help.

After publishing I felt a huge sense of relief. I was pleased with how it was received. It was great to hear people’s reflections. Now I look to my long list of other ideas I want to write about, but I’m filled with a sense of dread, knowing how long it will take me to do, how I’ll struggle with it.

But yet I can’t shake off feeling that I’ll be left behind and lose opportunities to step up in my career if I don’t write.

Why do I find it so hard to write?

I suspect a lot of it is to do with the struggles I experienced with reading as a child.

Growing in a single parent household where my exhausted mother worked six days a week on a market stall, there was little time for bedtime reading. My mother’s education ended at a very young age back in Mauritius, so her English and reading ability wasn’t great (I’m not complaining — she’s my role model. I’ve learnt so many things from her, she raised me without any financial (or any help) from my father. So yes, I let her off for not being able to read to me).

At primary school I remember the shame I felt having to continue with reading the simpler books because I wasn’t achieving the standard expected for my age, whilst my school friends progressed onto ‘free reading’.

Later in high school, I used stutter whilst reading aloud in English lessons, which followed huge bouts of embarrassment and anxiety.

Something tells me I’m not alone in this experience. I can’t help but feel frustrated at how many people will be held back because of similar experiences.

So what to do?

Do what almost every BAME person I know would do. I persevere.

If I truly believe that the world needs more diversity in voices heard, then I need to start doing something about it.

I can do three things. I can encourage my BAME friends and colleagues to write more. I can encourage those who are good at writing to help those who struggle. And I can write more myself.

I’ll write, but this time, I’m not going to over agonise. I’m not going to spend months editing and beating myself up on how hard I find it. I’m not going to ask for help. In fact, I’ll set myself a rule — write and publish on the same day. That’s what I’ll do today.

It will be full of grammatical errors. It will read badly in places. It will bore some of you. But I think screw it. Hopefully my writing will get better with time.