Quotes About Self-doubt

Would I always feel so small that it hurt and that even the greatest outcry roaring from my throat was, in reality, just a whimper? Would my footsteps always stop so suddenly and sink into the footpath?

It makes me think of my life, my nonexistent accomplishments and my overall abilities in incompetence.

I look at other people and think, He lives without meds. She does. What is wrong with me? Am I so biochemically screwed up, so neurotic, so narcissistically self-absorbed that every hour is an obstacle course for me?

Why hadn't she believed she could do it? As soon as she asked the question, she knew the answer. Fear. Fear of failure. Fear of not being perfect. Fear was at the root of her problems. The bedrock of her timidity. The

The hardest question for anyone who takes responsibility for what he or she does is, What if I turn out to be average?

And for a moment—only a moment, mind you—I felt my confidence slip.

however, the doubts really set in.

But doubts nevertheless creep in.

The language by which we have been taught to dismiss ourselves and our feelings as suspect is the same language we use to dismiss and suspect each other.

Delay is a gun pointed at the temple of confidence.

If i wasn't an accident mustn't I be a crushing disappointment?

La primera obligación de la Inteligencia es la desconfianza hacia sí misma.

Perhaps it is easier For others To believe in you Than it is To believe In yourself.

I feel like a big faker because I've been putting my life back together, and nobody knows.

Something really is wrong with me. And I don't know what it is.

My dad said I did the right thing. I hope I did, but it's hard to tell sometimes.

I also thought that if anybody saw me talking out loud when I was alone in the car, their looks might convince me that the something that's wrong with me might be even worse than I thought.

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I'm starting to get scared.

I hope you forgive the unedifying sight of my struggle to express some of the truths of my inner self and to measure the distance between the mask of security, ease, confidence and assurance I wear (so easily that its features often lift into a smirk that looks like complacency and smugness) and the real condition of anxiety, self-doubt, self-disgust and fear in which much of my life then and now is lived.

Everyone else new you ever meet, and this continues through life, is stronger than you are, knows the system better and sees right through to the back of your brain and finds what they see to be wholly inadequate. Everyone you encounter carries, as it were, a huge club behind their back, while all you hold behind yours is a weedy cotton-bud.

I have spent a good many years since?too many, I think?being ashamed about what I write. I think I was forty before I realized that almost every writer of fiction or poetry who has ever published a line has been accused by someone of wasting his or her God-given talent. If you write (or paint or dance or sculpt or sing, I suppose), someone will try to make you feel lousy about it, that's all.

I'm not sure anybody ever gets completely over their first love, and that still rankles. Part of me still wants to know what was wrong with me. What I was lacking.

You haven't finished the key, but not because you are afraid to finish. You're afraid of finding you can't finish. You're afraid to go down to where the stones stand, but not because you're afraid of what may come once you enter the circle. You're afraid of what may not come. You're not afraid of the great world, Eddie, but of the small one inside yourself.

A man who doubts himself shouldn't have to try too hard for too long, not until he's seasoned.