Imposter Syndrome and Publishing a Book
“Take these hands
Teach them what to carry
Take these hands
Don’t make a fist
”
It has been 77 days since my book was released, 19 days since I finished teaching for the school year, approximately four and a half years since I started writing the beginnings of a book, and as of 12 days ago I was feeling shattered. Exhausted. Empty.
Through a beautiful provision, my husband and I were able to get away to a friend’s beach cabin for the weekend and I am happy to report, it was perfect. We hadn’t been there long before I found myself wedged into patio furniture with a book and a bowl of cherries. After a year of pushing a boulder uphill while trying to twirl a baton, it only took an hour at the beach house for time to slow down and feel like I could breathe.
The ocean breeze meant that my seat in the shade was a perfect temperature. The cushion of the patio chair was high and thick enough to lean hard into. The kids on the beach were close enough for their beachy play and shrieks to sound nostalgic and charming, far enough to not be irritating.
Since I was only a few hours into this unfamiliar bliss of relaxation, I had to discipline myself to stick to my book and not reach for my phone. After a year of not enough reading time, I was unaccustomed to focusing on more than an Instagram post or work email.
I breathed in the brine and breathed out the cacophony of concerns that have plagued me for some time. Salty sea air, breathe in. I can’t do anything about all the things, breathe out. I could feel the remnants of an earlier headache detach from my body and found myself latching onto the plot of the novel that two of my daughters had recommended.
After three days of walking, talking, eating, laughing, reading, and even swimming in the cold Pacific, I felt my brain expand a teeny bit and I was able to to think about what it meant to have a published book and how I am already changed by it. There have been many surprises, joys, and frustrations in the process of publishing. Learning that your book is being read by an unexpectedly wide range of people, many of whom you haven’t met, is remarkably cool. Discovering typos in a book that was thoroughly and painstakingly edited is not. But the most surprising moment was realizing that having a published book is an effective antidote to Imposter Syndrome.
Just in case you are unfamiliar with Imposter Syndrome, I did due diligence and grabbed a definition from the trusty WebMD: “Imposter syndrome is when you doubt your own skills and successes. You feel you're not as talented or worthy as others believe, and you're scared that one day, people will realize that.” Regardless of your profession, hobby, or creative pursuit, you can likely identify with this statement. According to WebMD, “One study found that as many as 82% of all people have felt like a fraud at some point — even scientist Albert Einstein.”
For me Imposter Syndrome has been chiefly fueled by the voices of people in my past or present who I presume are critical of me and my writing. Their voices can be mocking, derisive, and accusatory. The snide, “Who do you think you are?” has been their favorite go-to question for me. They didn’t want an answer, they simply wanted it to paralyze me into avoiding my laptop and notebooks. They wanted me to believe that I had absolutely no business pursuing anything creative, or where I exercised my voice or expressed my thoughts. You’re a fake. A phony. A fraud. Don’t bother.
In the early days of writing, I braved the loud voices in my head and did the work anyway. Sometimes as I wrote, the voices got quieter but, more often, I just felt like a sneaky child who was stealing time by playing when I was really supposed to be doing the chores my parents had asked me to do. Do the writing if you want, silly girl, but always remember that it is frivolous and meaningless.
It wasn’t until I began talking to other writers or reading books on writing that I discovered that everyone has the voices. Ignore them? No. They must be confronted, fought with, and overcome. Over and over again until we see them for what they are; figments of our imagination that are fueled by our misunderstanding of how important it is that we create. Anne Lamott, Andrew Peterson, and Steven Pressfield have all written wonderful books on writing and creativity where they address the inner critic and Imposter Syndrome. They all agree; kill that noise. Shut it down. I believe it is Anne Lamott who can imagine bodies attached to the voices all sitting around her in comfortable chairs, heckling her as she is about to write. She mentally punts each one of them out the window and gets to work. When they crawl back in? Repeat. Easy.
Something that none of the books on writing told me was how I would feel after I had a published book out there, frolicking or, perhaps, trudging in the wide world. I assumed I would feel more like a faker once the writing had skin on. Take Courage, Dear Heart is not a big book but it has a big piece of my heart written into the pages and I was sure that the who do you think you are? voice would be louder than ever. But it wasn’t and after 77 days it has never been quieter. Is it because I think it is an impeccable piece of writing? No. Not only are there deeply dreaded typos but there are turns of phrases and passages that I would love to tweak, delete, or expound upon.
I think that the feeling that I wasn’t expecting is simply, calm. I feel indescribable peace. Not relief, but more a statement. As in, there it is. There is a completed book and no one can take that away from me. I wanted to share this experience for anyone who is scared to push past the voices and do the thing. Do it. It seems that it is in the actual doing that we create new voices in our heads. The more I push through the fears, the more I feel right and like myself, as if I’m doing what I was meant to, even when I’m not writing. I feel more like myself and like I make sense.
Andrew Peterson in his book, Adorning the Dark, speaks to the doubts and fears of those wanting to shrink back from sharing their work with the world: “You have to believe that you’re precious to the King of Creation, and not just a waste of space…we holy fools all bear God’s image.” And there it is. The most glorious identity we can be given, Image Bearers of the Almighty God, made with purpose and intention and if He has given you the interest, ability, or desire to make something, why argue back?
Why not behave more like those children I enjoyed while reading on the porch of the beach house. Their play and sandcastle building was accomplished without thought or desire for approval. They were lost in the worlds they were gleefully building with sand and stones, seaweed and shells. Gales of laughter as the waves breached their sand fortress or a wayward dog roared by them. We need to see our creative work like that. As if we are allowed to, not only be doing it, but to enjoy it as well. How can you be an Imposter when you are doing what you are supposed to be doing?
When Andrew Peterson hears, who do you think you are? said with a sneer, he rightly answers back, “beloved.” I hope you and I begin to truly believe that we are beloved. We are not a waste of space. And the things we spend our time on are not a joke.
Beloved, create.
