It was a confidence thing, guys.

Figured it out.

Just don’t think I’m good enough. Or was good enough. Ever feel like that? Like you’re not good enough for the craft that you want to share with the world because no professional is telling you it’s ready, so your own silly mind comes up with reasons why it isn’t, why it likely will never be, and you end up sitting in a dark corner, shaking and crying? Ah yes, the imposter syndrome. It is quite literally the dream-killer. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m rocking an indelible patch on my skin right next to my Beatles tattoo. Imposter Syndrome. I’m not really a writer, but I like playing one.

THE DEATH OF DREAMS.

Think I’ve been stuck in this mindset for a long time. I’m an imposter at this so there’s no use waving the flag, gathering the attention I’m still uncomfortable with, and making a big deal of myself since I’m just an IMPOSTER. I didn’t want to upset readers with my probable-garbage stories (even though I like them), so it’s fear. Fear I’m putting out subpar work and fear of the reaction regardless. It all boils down to confidence, and feeling like a phony-bologna. But I’m no phony-bologna, I’m telling you. I work at this. Even in my four year indie slumber, I wrote. I wrote everyday (and still do). It’s kind of my vice/addiction/on par with morning coffee: it happens Every. Freaking. Day. And if that’s the case, I have to be at least slightly better than subpar/garbage…right?

RIGHT.

I GOT THIS. I can do this. Even as confusable as I am—I got this. I don’t write garbage. I write masterpieces (this is what I’m telling myself) so the insecurity won’t hold me hostage anymore. I’m getting too old to be tied down by my own bullshit.

First part is realizing the problem. Second part – telling it to f off.

Here we go.

*cracks knuckles*

Lets do this.

~ Lady Caitlin