It’s easy for writers—in fact, someone in any profession—to fall into imposter syndrome. The feelings of being a fraud, the self-doubt, the uncertainty can be debilitating. And it can come out of the blue—that belief that despite evidence otherwise, you don’t know what you’re doing. This thinking is typically followed by the fear that you’ll be found out for the fraud you are. Shame and fear cover you like a shroud and color your thoughts and belief about yourself and your ability to function. One reaction is to hide, become invisible, and to quit—to withdraw from the very thing that has, up until now, given you life and purpose.
Somewhere along the way, we creatives adopt the notion that we have to be perfect all the time, that our work has to be above error and reproach. We can create a false sense of self that sets us up for a fall. Then something happens to burst that bubble, and we can fall hard and begin to question everything we’ve done. Once that negative thinking worms its way into our brain, it becomes like a flesh-eating bacteria that feeds on self-confidence and self-knowledge. It discounts the positive feedback you receive from others. You’re sure they’re lying just to make you feel better. Surely they see through your façade.
What can you do to turn this around before it cripples you completely? I can only address this as a writer and editor. I can honestly say I’ve never had writer’s block. But I’ve danced with the devil of self-doubt many times. Most recently, I wrote and published a book I’m quite proud of. But I rushed it through the editing and proofing process and didn’t employ the right assistance to ensure it was ready for human consumption. Kind of like the time my mother made nut rolls, but left out the baking soda. They tasted okay, but something was definitely wrong. I was horrified when I began to find errors in the published manuscript. Being independently published, I have the control to fix and republish, and I did so immediately. But my sense of professionalism took a hit.
I spent days wallowing in doubt in my abilities as an editor/proofreader and self-publisher. How could I have let a manuscript go to print with errors like that? A real professional would never have allowed that to happen. Who do I think I am calling myself an editor or proofreader? I should repay every penny to every author for whom I’ve edited and proofed.
Then I realized I don’t handle the work of others the way I handled this manuscript of my own. So what happened this time? It was simple. I rushed through the project, eager to get the book into print on an unrealistic timeline. I handed it over to someone who was well-meaning but didn’t have the skill needed to proof the work. And, boy, have I learned from this one. I can feel reasonably certain this won’t happen again. Of course, a typographical error can be found in almost every published work. I need to be realistic about the degree of perfection, but still strive for the best.
And, so, my latest battle with ‘imposter syndrome’ brought me to this conclusion: honest self-evaluation can move us forward toward becoming more professional, more skilled if we step back and examine the positives and negatives. I took time to evaluate my career as a writer and as an editor. I’m not perfect at either, but I’m pretty darned good at both. The best part is that I can learn from my mistakes.
If you’re a writer (or an artist, a photographer, a chef—any creative) and finding yourself doubting your identity as such, take a step back. Breathe. Stop comparing yourself to others in the profession. Stop measuring success according to which rung on the ladder you’re standing. We creatives can have such delicate egos that are so easily fractured by criticism—often our own. Let yourself be human. Own your mistakes, but then learn from them. Take your time. And take your place alongside other creatives in your profession.
Some of you might remember that Saturday Night Live routine with Stuart Smalley: “I’m smart enough, I’m good enough, and doggone it, people like me.” Then there’s the line from The Help: “You is smart. You is kind. You is important.”
As an author, I’m a small fish—a minnow really—in a very big pond. Have I had dreams of feeding with the big fish (the NYT bestsellers list, etc.)? Sure. Do I feel like an imposter because I haven’t achieved that level of fame? Absolutely not. Take pride in what you do and do your best. Be open to learn. Don’t let the negativity of self-doubt take you down. Stop comparing yourself to the bigger fish and embrace your accomplishments. Own your mistakes, make corrections as you can, and move on. Sharpen your skills.
And for heaven’s
sake don’t forget to laugh at yourself. It’s much harder being a human than
being a writer or editor or chef or artist. Give yourself a break, then come
back stronger.
