I just released my new video course for INFJ writers. It’s called Understanding Yourself as an INFJ Writer and it features a ton of information on common INFJ writer obstacles and how to conquer them.
It also covers:
What to do when we hit a wall in our first draft
How to stop giving away our writing time
Conquering INFJ writer self-sabotage
What to do about never feeling good enough
How to get out of research mode and actually start writing
How to trust the creative process
I made a short video with all the details about this new course:
One of my students asked me the other day about the positives of being an INFJ writer. The question made me stop and think because I realized that, although we talk a lot about the struggles of being an INFJ writer, rarely do we pause to appreciate the gifts. And there are plenty of gifts, that’s for certain. So today I’m taking a little time to remind all the INFJ writers out there (as well as myself) why it’s great to be an INFJ writer.
Perfectionism is one of the major issues INFJ writers deal with on a daily basis. Perfectionism often blocks writers from finishing projects because they spend countless hours trying to make things perfect and never actually move ahead. It also blocks writers from ever starting anything because the moment they write that first sentence and see how flawed it is, they feel overwhelmed and lose all hope that they can continue.
Perfectionism is especially frequent in INFJ writers, and it doesn’t just extend to their writing life. Most INFJ personality types experience the crippling effects of perfectionism in their day-to-day lives, whether that’s in their jobs, their relationships, or with other personal issues. This is also why many INFJ personality types tend to gravitate toward personal growth and improvement. We are always trying to make ourselves better, because we can very clearly see where exactly we are lacking.
Why is perfectionism so strong and all-consuming for INFJ personality types, and INFJ writers in particular?
A few years ago, I gave one of the first drafts of one of my novels to a friend who said she was interested in reading it and giving me feedback. I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about getting her feedback, but I figured this was something I had to do if I wanted to grow that “thick skin” that I’d heard every writer had to have. So, against my better judgment, I gave it to her.
“I didn’t like the ending,” she said when I met with her the next time. “It felt like the main character was too dependent on the people outside of her. She should have been more independent, more feisty. I like strong female characters.”
Well, I was immediately crushed. And then instantly spiraled out. This didn’t just feel like feedback to me, it felt like stinging, crushing, excruciating criticism. The ending of my story was all wrong. The main character was all wrong. She wasn’t strong enough, she wasn’t independent enough. She just wasn’t…enough. And neither was I.