I’ve been battling a wicked case of impostor syndrome lately. As a matter of fact, it was hard for me to even click on “add new post” and to start writing in the blank space. But I did.
I have ideas. Lots of them bouncing around in my head. But then I get the “that’s not good enough” or the “someone did that better already” thoughts. Then I start to wonder if I should posting any type of personal essays here at all or should I be writing them and shopping them around. Isn’t that the point now? To be published other places. To get your writing out there for the masses to see so that you can become a viral wonder and maybe land a book deal and go down in internet history. Maybe.
So if I don’t tell my personal stories here, what do I put here? Crafts or recipes or DIY or… I don’t even know. What are people writing about now? And is that I what I want in here in this space with my name on it. Is that all I am? A cute craft that I probably don’t have time to finish. A recipe with photos that I will nitpick over to the point of exhaustion. A DIY that I’ll worry more about its pinnability than the actual need for it in my house.
I don’t know.
Then I remember when I started blogging. Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, laptop resting on my knees, I opened Google and searched “how to start a blog”. I clicked it and named it and wrote it. I just did it. No second thoughts. No over-thinking. I just did it. I didn’t worry about sentence structure or if my post was meaningful or if it was going to be pinned or liked or tweeted.
I wrote because I needed to. I wrote because it started to heal the broken pieces inside of me, the pieces that had been broken for years and that I thought could never be repaired. I knitted myself back together with words.
Somehow all of this other stuff started to get in the way. I started thinking too deeply. What does this mean? What does that mean? What will they think? What if no one cares? What if everyone hates it? What if they hate me?
Nothing I ever write will be good enough to answer all those questions or to satisfy all of those nameless people. Nothing.
Now I’m realizing that it doesn’t have to be. It just needs to be good enough to satisfy me. It needs to have worth to me. Whether it is a story or a craft or a recipe or a DIY. It needs to be important to me. The girl whose name is on the blog.
I need to do this for me. That’s the only way I won’t be an impostor. And that’s the only I can shut up the voice that tells me I’m not good enough.