Why We Procrastinate On What Matters
It's more than fear of failure
I was talking to a friend the other day about why we procrastinate over our creative work, or the projects we’ve been thinking about for the last few weeks, months, years. If we say we want something, why don’t we just do it already?
I learned during my early days of writing books for clients that often my procrastination came in the form of putting off that first moment where one has to really dig into the material and get going. To really wrap your head around what’s there (and what’s not). It took me a while to realize it was all due to unacknowledged fear. Fear that I would finally start and realize one or all of the following:
There’s so much more work than I thought there was
I don’t have what I need to do the rest of the work
The situation is way worse than I initially suspected
There’s a major problem, and while I can see it, I don’t know how to fix it
I’m a total fraud and I don’t know what I’m doing
One or all of those fears, lurking in the subconscious of the paid writer, will stall a project until the overbearing weight of a deadline infuses the situation with urgency. There’s a theme here: It all amounts to a fear of failure.
While all of that is true for paid work, why is it that we avoid doing the work we love? Why procrastinate on something that gets us excited, that doesn’t have a deadline? Or that we can’t wait to see out in the world? That doesn’t carry the weight of someone else’s expectation? Is it truly fear of failure or is it something else?
While there are many different reasons for procrastination, I think one of the hidden reasons lies in a deeper, almost paradoxical relationship we have with our creative dreams and desires. While excitement and passion drive us toward the work we love, fear sneaks in and complicates things. It's not just fear of failure, but also fear of success, fear of change, or even fear of confronting parts of ourselves that the creative process brings to the surface.
We expose ourselves subtly at every turn. It’s part of the deal. You don’t get to make something—whether that’s a book or a business or a quiche—without something of yourself shining through… and that something is just as likely to be provocative, uncomfortable, surprising, or even embarrassing as it is to be amazing.
An artist I know made a beautiful abstract painting for her wall. The piece is rich with textures, emergent symbols, and movement. One afternoon, she was lying on her couch and staring up at it when she noticed that one of her squiggles seemed to be a name. A very specific name. The name of her ex-husband. She has a good sense of humor and she’s an accomplished artist, so she laughed it off (and promptly fixed it). But not everyone has the resilience to see their unconscious parts emerge into awareness and bear them with patience.
It’s all very vulnerable—that act of exposure, even to ourselves, can be overwhelming. Creating something meaningful requires us to navigate uncertainty, confront imperfections, and risk rejection or disappointment—not just from others but from ourselves. Our creative work is often tied to our identity, so procrastination can be a form of self-protection.
If the project doesn’t live up to our expectations, what does that say about us? What if the gap between what we envision and what we create forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about our abilities or self-worth? What if we see parts of ourselves in the process that we don’t like?
I’ve been tinkering with a manifesto for a long time. It first emerged in a fit of creative inspiration—I had so much fun writing it that at times I cackled. Then I edited, added, polished, and rearranged. It’s not at all where I want it to be. I think there are holes. There are probably things that don’t line up, just as there are ideas that are truly gold. It’s long, and anything I do to it will undoubtedly make it longer. And yet, I want to see it finished. I want to see it stand out there in the world. I might even want to publish the final version as a book. There is no one waiting for this… no deadline. No real way to fail, other than to fail to launch it at some point. So why don’t I just dig in already?
It’s not fear of failure, but the fear of dealing with all of my inadequacies. My gaps in thinking. My occasional messiness in thought and in writing. My indecision. The spots in the text where I simply don’t have an answer. The spots where I am waiting for the insight to come. I have to wade through those with compassion and patience, without judging myself so harshly that I might stop what I’m doing just to stop the internal discomfort.
So, even though it’s something we love, the enormity of the emotional investment often keeps us procrastinating. We find comfort in the idea of a perfect future creation rather than wrestling with the messy process of bringing it into reality, fearing the discomfort and vulnerability of actually doing the work.
As uncomfortable as it is, this is all part of the creative process. Making something goes far beyond the external output. Making something requires making yourself anew each time. It requires an internal balance that accepts and integrates all of the ways in which you truly have no idea what you’re doing, but will do it anyway.
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