Yesterday, I had a moment with a client that nearly brought me to tears.

She told me that finding my story was priceless, because it helped her believe that she too could get through her antidepressant taper and lead a badass life.

I receive similar messages from readers and clients almost every day: because of your story, I don’t feel alone.

I am doing exactly what I set out to do. My goal in life is to be the person I needed when my mental and physical health hit rock bottom.

I’m not saying this to be all, “Hey, look at me and all the people I’m helping!” (Yuck.)

I’m saying this because I want you to know that I almost didn’t do this. I turned this ship around at least 5,000 times before I really started believing in myself. And if I had turned it around, I wouldn’t be helping ANYONE.

Everyone has what I like to call “the asshole who lives upstairs” — the negative voice that says you aren’t ENOUGH to do whatever it is you want to do.

I have it. You have it. Everyone you know has it.

But here’s the thing: Most of us think we’re the only person on earth who has such a harsh critic following us around 24/7. We assume life is easy for everyone else, and that we’re the only person permanently strapped inside of a stinky struggle bus.

WRONG.

Today, I want to tell you about the asshole that lives in MY brain, and MY stinky struggle bus, because I bet you’ll have compassion for me. (It’s so easy to have for other people!)

And I want you to turn around and put that compassion right back on yourself. I want you to stop fearing your calling and your desires — especially if you know what they are and you’re too afraid to act on them.

Several years ago, I started Pills to Paleo, a blog to document my health journey. My asshole brain told me not to. Here’s what it said: 

-If you write openly about psych meds, everyone will know you’re crazy, you’ll never be able to get a new job, and you’ll end up on the streets with no way to generate an income. Your story is too personal and it’s too risky to share.

-You should wait until AFTER you get healthy to write a blog. Who wants to read a blog about someone who is still sick and overweight? What if you’re always sick and overweight? What if you never get better?

-There are so many blogs about people’s health journeys. No one will read yours. You’ll just get lost in the ocean of Google. What’s the point?

Shortly thereafter, I went back to school to become a nutritionist. My asshole brain told me not to. Here’s what it said: 

-No one will take health advice from you, because you don’t look like a typical nutritionist. You’re not fit enough. You’re not pretty enough. You’re still struggling with your health. Going back to school will be a waste of time and money.

-Your friends and family will make fun of you, because they know what a fatass cow you really are. They’ve seen you plow through donuts and ice cream. Everyone will laugh behind your back. People will think you’re weird and they’ll abandon you.

-You need a more “serious” credential. People listen to doctors, not holistic nutritionists. No one is going to take you seriously, and then you won’t be able to help anyone. You’ll just be that crazy, crunchy hippie chick who’s in even more debt because of her wacky-ass dream. Talk about impractical.

When I finally got up the nerve to quit my full-time corporate job to take my part-time nutrition practice full-time, my asshole brain told me it was THE WORST IDEA EVER. Here’s what it said: 

-Your writing career is so successful. You’re going to regret it the minute you quit, and then you’ll never be able to find another writing job, especially since you’ve told the whole internet that you used to be on a boatload of psych meds! You’ve officially lost your mind.

-All of your coworkers are laughing at your stupid pipe dream and whispering behind your back about how impractical and immature you are.

-It’s much safer to have a guaranteed paycheck, even though you really hate your job. You should just stay put, even though you’re miserable. Really, you’d be safer to hit up the casino. What the hell are you thinking? The past several years were a total mistake. You shouldn’t have pursued ANY of this. You’re an idiot.

See, I told you I have a serious asshole upstairs. And even though I no longer struggle with hardcore depression and anxiety (imagine how bad THAT was), I still struggle with self-doubt and fear. We all do. 

We are evolutionarily wired to pursue safety and avoid risk. But these days, we’re not running from tigers, and playing safe makes for a totally boring life.

I have a daily practice of feeling the fear and doing it anyway. And the more I do it, the harder it is to hear the asshole who lives upstairs.

What’s that, you say? I won’t be able to help anyone? My calendar is full of brave, amazing people who are changing their lives. I’m so, so lucky I get to say I helped. 

I want you to think about this — if I had listened to the asshole, I wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be reading this blog.

Now … think about your favorite artists, performers, authors, role models, teachers, and anyone you care about. They ALL have assholes upstairs. What if they had listened to them? 

What if The Beatles thought they were too progressive, and threw in the towel before ever recording an album?

What if Marilyn Monroe thought her curves were a curse?

What if Charles Darwin decided he was “too old”? (He wrote On the Origin of the Species at age 50.)

I could keep going, and going, and going.

Plug in your favorite people. What would your life be like without them?

Not so great, right?

I believe we all have greatness inside of us. I believe we are all meant to inspire others simply by becoming who we are meant to be. 

The asshole who lives upstairs is not just keeping YOU miserable — it’s keeping you from reaching all of the people you’re supposed to.

You have a message to share, a THING you’re supposed to do, a person you’re supposed to be. You know exactly what it is, or at the very least, you have an inkling. It may not be grandiose. You are probably scared shitless of it. And that’s how you know it’s the thing.

Fight the asshole upstairs, my friends. Go chase what scares you. If you need more help, read Liz Gilbert’s Big Magic for starters. (It’s great on audio, too.)

I’m going to head into the weekend reflecting on all of my success. There is no better feeling than proving my upstairs asshole wrong. 

Cheering for you always,

Holly

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