Welcome to Victim Mode. The mindset feeds you excuses on a silver platter: blame for the main course, helplessness on the side, and just a little entitlement to wash it down.
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Woe is me. The algorithm is unfair. Nobody hits like on my genius posts.
I wasn’t born into money. I don’t have the right connections.
Spotify owes me. The universe owes me. Somebody owes me.
Snivel, snivel, snivel.
Victim Mode. You don’t even need a reservation. Just pull up a chair and start crying about why nothing’s fair.
Why Wallow In Victim Mode
But while you are at it, someone else is grinding. Someone else is pouring-it-out on their instrument, tweaking that mix for the thousandth time, emailing a hundred people and hearing back from none. And guess what? They show up again tomorrow. Because they are not waiting for it to get easier. They are getting better.
Victim mode is a drug. It’s seductive.
It tells you you’re not the problem. That the world is out to get you. That effort doesn’t matter because the deck is stacked. And the second you believe it?
You’ve lost.
You hand over your power the moment you buy into the lie. And from that place, how will you be able to create? You will not be able to lead from that place. And you sure cannot build a legacy while wallowing in your own self-pity.
This is Life: Bad stuff happens. Unfair happens.
But the difference between a victim and a warrior is the course of the journey. Victims get stuck in the story, while warriors rewrite it.
You want to create art that moves people?
Then start by moving yourself out of the negative headspace, the downward spiral, and out of that seat at the snivel table.
Get up. Take the hit. Swing back.
Because no one’s coming to save you.
And the world doesn’t hand out trophies for “almost tried.”
Sniveling Mindset: Greatest Hits of Excuse-Making
Let’s call it what it is.
The sniveling mindset is that quiet little voice that sounds suspiciously like you. It’s the voice that always has a reason why you can’t move forward, why now’s not the right time, or how someone else got lucky and you got screwed. That is the powerless you talking.
You’ve heard the greatest hits:
- “If I just had better gear, I’d be unstoppable.”
- “Nobody wants real music anymore—it’s all TikTok trash.”
- “The algorithm’s rigged.”
- “I’m too old to start now.”
- “If I had connections, I’d already be famous.”
- “People just don’t get my art.”
- “I’d create more, but I work too much.”
- “I tried once. Didn’t work. The industry sucks.”
You know what all of those have in common?
They let you off the hook.
Excuses
The victim-mode has a job. It protects your ego by blaming everything except yourself. This is the fake comfort of powerlessness, keeping your hands clean while your dreams die in the corner.
The gear doesn’t make the song. The algorithm doesn’t stop us from showing up. And no one owes anyone anything just because we feel something deeply.
Do we want to make art that matters?
Then we drop those excuses that are not helping us. They are bubble wrap around our insecurities.
We don’t need a savior; we must stand up, shut up, and get to work.
Victim mode hijacks the story at the exact point it should turn.
The moment where struggle is supposed to shape us into something more substantial, our woe-is-me attitude steps in and offers a soft couch and a sob story instead.
The trade-off is resilience for resentment and hope for helplessness.
The payment demand: our potential.
Because when you stay in that place too long, you stop dreaming big. You stop taking risks. You shrink, and worse, you start to believe shrinking is smart. But it is not. It is a silent surrender.
Don’t Snivel. Snivel. Snivel.
Elizabeth Gilbert
Elizabeth Gilbert was born in 1969 in Waterbury, Connecticut. She began her career writing for publications like GQ and The New York Times Magazine. Long before anyone knew her name, she was already wrestling with big ideas—freedom, creativity, fear—and putting them on the page.
Everything changed with Eat, Pray, Love. The memoir, published in 2006, followed Gilbert’s journey through Italy, India, and Indonesia after a painful divorce. It struck a nerve. Eat, Pray, Love shattered records and expectations. The book sold over 12 million copies and stayed on The New York Times bestseller list for over three years. Hollywood turned it into a film, and suddenly, Gilbert was a household name.
Even The Pros Go Into Victim Mode
That’s when the fear kicked in. The fear that she had already done the best work of her life and that everything after would be judged by the glare of her own spotlight.
In 2015, she published Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear. The book is not about success but about showing up.
In Big Magic, she does not offer a formula. This is the challenge: Quit complaining. No one owes you anything, not the muse, your readers, or the world.
Gilbert pulls back the curtain on the creative process and calls out the fears, excuses, and perfectionism that stop people from making art.
The message hits home for countless writers, musicians, and makers: You don’t need permission to create. Just do the work.
From Her TED Talk: “Success, failure and the drive to keep creating”
In this talk, Gilbert openly discusses how the massive success of Eat, Pray, Love left her creatively paralyzed, fearing she could never top it, and how she broke free from that trap.
From the Guardian, 2015:
Victim Mode: Snivel At Your Own Risk
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The victim mindset waits. It blames. It watches others succeed and says, “They got lucky,” or “I didn’t have the same shot.” The sniveler wants the reward without the risk, the praise without the practice. The whiner fixates on what they are missing. They complain about their connections, exposure, and money while refusing to do the hard, invisible work.
The grinders, who throw their weight into the harness, show no concern for who is watching. Permission is not needed or asked for. The committed artist wakes up early or stays up late. They rewrite the verse, re-record the take, or send out another pitch, knowing it’ll probably be ignored.
Every win is not posted to the social media news reel. Every failure is another rep of heavy lifting endured in silence.
Real artists aren’t just creating, they’re emailing venues, learning software updates, fixing gear, promoting gigs, dealing with rejection, and still showing up the next day. No one claps for that part. That’s the part most people don’t see.
Effort is the difference. Not the effort that happens occasionally when inspiration strikes, but the daily, disciplined, often thankless grind that separates creators from complainers.
Entitlement says, “I deserve this.”
Effort says, “I’m earning it.”
From Sniveler To Warrior
Yep, life is unfair. Some people are born with industry connections, money, or perfect timing, but not most. Other artists come from bloodlines of artistic pedigree, the oligarchy of talent, but most do not.
Some get breaks you don’t and others win before they deserve it. That’s real. Denying it is naïve. But staying stuck in it? That’s a choice.
The War Of Art
Stephen Pressfield’s War of Art is a blunt, no-nonsense guide to overcoming the internal barriers that block creative work. Pressfield identifies the main enemy as resistance, a shape-shifting force of procrastination, fear, distraction, perfectionism, self-doubt, and victimhood. It’s not out there, it’s in you.
“Resistance will use anything—your history, your wounds, your ego—to keep you in victim mode. It’s a liar.” This pretty much encapsulates the book.
Why I Love The War Of Art So Much
Because it doesn’t coddle, but calls you out.
Pressfield doesn’t offer hacks or tricks; instead, he hands you the mirror and asks, ‘Are you doing the work, or just talking about it?’ The book respects the grind, names the excuses, and reminds you of what being an artist means.
Being an artist is about the fight, and if you want to win, you have to show up like a pro, not a crybaby. The War Of Art does not romanticize the process but honors the discipline.
It checks your excuses, followed by a hand on your shoulder. And sometimes, that’s precisely what a creator needs.
I have friends in the music industry, artists of intense brilliance and articulation. We are talking about decades of dedication and perseverance. Some have been signed to the major labels, some almost, and others never.
Many have been mentors to some of the most acknowledged and successful artists in the music industry. Yet, they have not received the accolades or reciprocation their leadership deserved.
Yes, my friends often feel slighted and resentful, sometimes musing over what fate has handed them. Face it, we are only human, and the randomness of life affects us.
But what my friends do not do is quit. No matter the years, tribulations, or disappointments. They don’t stop. There is another gig, the hope of that book release, the chance to help someone.
Enter Victim Mode
Snivel. Snivel. Snivel.
Victims freeze in place. They replay the sob spiral, ‘Why it didn’t work, who didn’t help, how they got screwed.’
Sometimes warriors can not ignore the pain, but they do not bow to their wounds. The only choice is to move, walk it out, and adapt. They keep going.
Real creatives who fight do not rewrite their story all at once; they do it in pieces:
- Track by track when no one’s listening.
- Gig by gig in half-empty rooms.
- Rejection by rejection with inboxes full of silence.
They aren’t waiting for deservedness. They’re building something that outlasts fairness. One hard-earned, unglamorous, unstoppable step at a time.
Can We Help You?
Are you connecting with artists who challenge and inspire you?
If any part of this hits you, that would be good. It was meant to. Not to shame you, but to wake you up.
You don’t need more advice. You need to move.
So here’s your shot: Stand up. Shut down the excuses. Get in the game.
Drop a comment if you’ve been there.
Please share this with someone who needs to hear it.
Subscribe if you’re done waiting and ready to fight.
No more sniveling. Let’s get to work.
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