Skip to main content

Wrestling With Impostor Syndrome (and Occasionally Winning)

Let me tell you a little secret. One that I, like most writers I know, don’t say out loud unless coaxed with chocolate or caffeine or the promise of a free tote bag.

Ready?

I regularly think I’m a fraud.

Yep. Impostor syndrome is basically my sidekick. My unwanted sidekick. Like a clingy ex who keeps showing up at book signings whispering, “You don’t belong here.”

You see, writing is deeply personal. We’re not assembling IKEA furniture (though honestly, my last attempt at a bookshelf made me feel equally unqualified). When you write, you’re pulling thoughts from your soul, arranging them into fragile sentences, and then sending them out into the big bad world hoping someone doesn’t say, “Well, that’s garbage.”

There’s no magical scroll that arrives by owl post declaring: “Congratulations, you are now officially a Writer™.” No license, no laminated badge, not even a quirky business card. If you’re waiting for someone to officially knight you with a pen and say, “Arise, Word Warrior,” it’s not coming.

(Although, if someone wants to start that society, call me.)

So how do you know you’re a writer? Simple.

If you write, you’re a writer.
That’s it. Full stop. No secret handshake required.

Still, impostor syndrome sneaks in, doesn’t it? Especially when you compare your behind-the-scenes messy drafts and sob sessions to someone else's curated Instagram author life. They have candles, aesthetic coffee cups, and appear to have written a novel in three days while also meal-prepping and learning Italian. Meanwhile, I’ve been “editing” the same paragraph since Tuesday and just found a cookie in my notebook. (I ate it. Obviously.)

But here’s what I’ve learned—and I want you to really let this soak in like a good moisturizer:
Self-doubt doesn’t mean you’re not good enough. It means you care.

You care deeply. About the words. About the stories. About doing it well. And honestly? That’s kind of beautiful.

So what do I do when I feel like a big ol’ fraud?

I lean on my tribe. A wonderful, weird group of like-minded writers who remind me that we all feel this way sometimes. That rejection is part of the journey, not the definition of it. And that yes, even multi-published authors sometimes feel like their cat is a better writer than they are.

We remind each other to keep writing.
To keep whispering (or shouting) “I am a writer.”
To celebrate progress, not perfection.
And most importantly, to never let that shadowy imposter in our heads silence our voice.

Because your words matter.
And so do mine.
Even if I still sometimes Google “what is a subplot” at midnight like I’ve never written a novel in my life.

So here’s to you, fellow word wrangler. Whether you’re scribbling in journals, plotting fantasy epics, writing cozy mysteries with magical dogs (hi, it’s me), or just bravely staring down that blinking cursor—

You are a writer.
And impostor syndrome doesn’t stand a chance against that truth.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Absolute Madness of Naming Characters

  Let’s talk about one of the most ridiculous struggles of writing a book. No, I’m not talking about the part where you stare at the blinking cursor like it personally insulted your ancestors. I’m talking about naming characters. It should be easy, right? Just slap a name on them and move on? Oh, my sweet summer child. If only. See, naming a character is like naming your kid—except worse, because nobody is going to complain if your kid and their cousin both end up being named Liam. But if your main villain is named Liam and you accidentally give the quirky coffee shop owner in book three the same name? Cue the existential crisis. Let’s walk through the madness. The Overthinking Spiral of Doom You start writing, and there’s that moment: your brand-new character walks onto the page, full of potential. All they need is a name. A simple name. Something strong, something fitting, something— Oh no. Nothing sounds right. This one is too complicated. That one is too simple. ...

A Labour-Free Labour Day? Yes, Please!

Hello and Happy Labour Day to all my lovely North American readers! Now, isn’t it just a little bit ironic that a holiday with the word labour baked right into the name is universally observed by doing absolutely none of it? Zero. Zilch. Unless, of course, you count the rigorous work of flipping burgers, casting fishing lines, and chasing wasps away from the potato salad. Then yes—we are a nation of highly skilled, recreational labourers. Olympic-level loungers, really. This year, I’m wholeheartedly leaning into the contradiction. After an exceptionally busy summer filled with writing deadlines, creative misadventures, and one unfortunate incident involving a Papillon, a pie, and a squirrel (don’t ask—Pixie is still refusing to discuss it), I’m embracing the art of not doing much at all. My Labour Day weekend plans include: Reclining in my favourite chair like a dramatic Victorian heroine recovering from a fainting spell. Watching the endless activity in the harbour just outs...

Am I Perfect? Are You Kidding Me?!

Well, folks, let’s talk about something we all love to pretend we’re not – imperfection .  If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this wild ride of being an author, it’s that I am definitely not perfect . And you know what? That’s perfectly fine! (And if anyone tells you they’re perfect, just remind them that we’re all human—unless they’re a robot, in which case, we need to talk about your AI skills.) You see, every time I look back at my earlier works, I cringe just a little. Okay, maybe a lot . Plotholes that I patched over with the kind of flimsy excuses I’d never accept from my kids on homework. There are commas that should be in the witness protection program, hiding far away from the sentence they’re supposed to be part of. And some of the phrases? Oh boy. If I could go back in time, I’d sit myself down and say, “Honey, that line? It’s not even funny, it’s just… confusing.” But here’s the thing – I wrote this . It’s my work, my journey, my creation. And that’s something t...