The Emotional Weight of Showing Up
By Sue Pendleton, Founder
Some things feel hard because they’re difficult. And some things feel hard because they bring up so much emotion that we begin to avoid them altogether.
I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately in relation to artists and marketing, but also because of something my daughter, Izzy, taught me years ago through her experience with OCD.
What Izzy Taught Me About Avoidance
When Izzy was 12, she was diagnosed with OCD.
People often think of OCD in very narrow terms—usually around germs or cleanliness—but for Izzy, it showed up as fear of the unknown. Supernatural things. UFOs. Monsters. Ghosts. Anything that felt mysterious, unsettling, or beyond control.
It became so intense that she couldn’t be alone upstairs in our home. Walking from the car into school became hard. Her world began to shrink.
Eventually, we sent her to Rogers Behavioral Hospital in Wisconsin, where she entered a residential program for children with OCD.
At one point, Izzy explained exposure therapy to me in a way I’ve never forgotten.
For her, it started very simply. She might go into a bathroom alone for two seconds. Then a little longer. Then with the door closed. Then, with the door closed and the lights off.
What struck me most was this: they weren’t being trained to make the anxiety disappear before doing the thing. They were being trained to feel it. To feel the fear. The discomfort. The rush of emotion. And then realize: I’m still here. I survived this. Nothing happened.
Over time, by continuing the exposure and allowing the feelings to be there, the fear began to lessen. What once felt unbearable became expected. Then, more familiar. Then, more normal.
That has stayed with me ever since.
The Things We Avoid Are Often Emotionally Loaded
I think about that now whenever I consider why so many of us avoid certain tasks, not just in life, but especially in our work.
Sometimes we stop doing things not because we’re lazy, incapable, or the task itself is so objectively hard. Sometimes we avoid things because they bring up too much.
Too much discomfort.
Too much vulnerability.
Too much self-consciousness.
Too many feelings all at once.
And once that happens, avoidance starts to make perfect sense.
Why Marketing Feels So Hard for Artists
This is part of what happens for many artists with marketing. It’s easy to say the problem is time. Or that social media interrupts creative flow. Or that we’d rather be in the studio than writing captions.
All of that may be true.
But I think there’s something deeper going on, too.
Marketing carries emotional weight.
It asks us to be visible.
It asks us to talk about ourselves.
It asks us to share work that may feel personal, unfinished, or deeply tied to who we are.
It asks us to risk being ignored, misunderstood, or judged.
That is a lot.
So even a small task—posting a photo, writing a few lines, sharing a thought—can feel much bigger than it really is.
Not because the task is huge. But because the emotion attached to it is.
Sometimes the Hardest Part Isn’t the Task
I know this rings true for me in my own marketing. The hardest part is often not the act itself. Once I sit down and do it, it’s usually manageable.
The hardest part is the feeling around it. It’s the reluctance. The resistance. The little wave of discomfort that says, I don’t want to deal with this right now.
And I think that feeling is what keeps so many of us from engaging regularly. We assume the discomfort means something is wrong—that we’re bad at marketing, or not built for it, or just not disciplined enough.
But maybe discomfort is not proof that we can’t do something.
Maybe it’s simply the feeling of doing something that carries emotional weight.
Repetition Lessens the Charge
This is where I keep coming back to what Izzy learned. The goal was never to erase the feeling before taking action. The goal was to feel the discomfort, do the thing anyway, and let the brain learn that the experience was survivable.
That’s what I think can happen with showing up too. Not in the same clinical sense, of course. But in the very human sense that repeated exposure can lessen the emotional charge around something we tend to avoid.
If we keep showing up—simply, imperfectly, consistently—the act of sharing may begin to feel less loaded.
Less like an event.
Less like a referendum on our worth.
Less like something we have to brace ourselves for.
Over time, it may start to feel more neutral. Not necessarily joyful. Not necessarily natural. But doable.
And honestly, doable is enough.
The Goal Isn’t to Love Marketing
I’m not suggesting artists need to become marketing experts. I’m not suggesting we should all aim to love self-promotion or spend our days thinking about content. That’s not the point.
The point is to invest a little time in the parts of the process that support the life and work we care about. To let the discomfort be there at first. To stop assuming we need to feel confident before we begin. To keep the task small enough, simple enough, and regular enough that it slowly becomes part of the rhythm.
Because when we repeat something, it can begin to lose its emotional intensity.
And when that happens, we’re no longer expending so much energy just trying to get ourselves to do it.
We’re simply doing it.
Avoidance Makes Life Smaller
One of the most powerful things I learned through Izzy’s experience is that avoidance can quietly make life smaller.
What begins as “I don’t want to do this” can slowly become “I can’t do this.”
And while marketing is obviously not the same thing as a clinical disorder, I do think artists can fall into a quieter version of that pattern. We tell ourselves we’ll share later. We wait until we feel ready. We avoid the discomfort. And over time, the gap between making the work and sharing the work gets wider and wider.
That’s the part that makes me sad.
Because beautiful work can stay hidden that way.
Not because it isn’t worthy.
Not because the artist doesn’t care.
But because showing up has become so emotionally loaded that it begins to feel impossible.
Maybe That’s the Work
Maybe part of the work is not becoming someone who is naturally good at marketing. Maybe part of the work is simply returning to it often enough that it stops feeling quite so heavy.
To let it be awkward.
To let it be imperfect.
To let it bring up feelings.
And then to do it anyway.
Again and again, in small ways.
Over time, the thing that once felt enormous can begin to feel ordinary.
And maybe that’s enough.
Maybe showing up doesn’t have to feel inspiring every time. Maybe it doesn’t have to feel easy. Maybe it just needs to feel possible. And sometimes, possible begins with understanding this: The hardest part of showing up is not always the task itself. Sometimes it’s the emotional weight we carry into it.
