Does Everyone Have Imposter Syndrome?

A friend of mine recently published her fortieth book. Forty! And still, I overheard her tell someone she wasn’t a real writer.

I laughed out loud. Not because it was funny, but because it was so absurd. Everyone who knows her looks up to her. She’s generous, humble, wildly creative and obviously prolific, and if even she doubts herself, then it’s no wonder the rest of us do too!

Imposter syndrome runs deep. And it doesn’t go away just because you’ve hit a certain word count or landed a book deal—or forty. I see it all the time in my writing groups. Are you one of those people who say, “I’m trying to write a memoir.” But you’re not trying. You are writing. You’re showing up. And that matters more than you think.

A lot of people give up. They stop writing when a creative crisis strikes, or they never start at all. And then that little voice that says, You’re not good enough wins.

And I get it. I’ve been working on my book for years. I haven’t finished. But I will. I will finish.

The longer you do something, the more it becomes part of you. Writing this memoir has definitely become a big part of my identity, and when you do something long enough… theoretically, it gets easier. Right? (Though let’s be honest, I am still visited by the devil of doubt every couple months.)

But here’s a strange thing: if you keep at it long enough, people start looking to you as if you’re the expert.

I’ve been leading a memoir group for five years now. I still don’t feel like an expert, but I do know people in my community respect what I have to say.

Even writing that makes me uncomfortable. It feels like bragging. Funny that I’d never accuse someone else of being a braggart for simply owning their experience. But somehow, many of us—especially women—are taught to be humble. To downplay our voice. To avoid claiming our space or believing in ourselves.

Imposter syndrome thrives in that silence.

So here’s what I’m trying to say: keep at it.

If you love writing, keep writing, even the outcome isn’t clear.
Even if you don’t always love writing, if you feel like you have something to say, keep writing.
If writing soothes you, helps you uncover meaning, keep writing.

And sometimes the process itself might be more important than the writing, as it helps us understand ourselves, our lives, and others.

I write because I have something to say. And I believe you do too.

Even when it’s hard.
Even when you doubt yourself.
Even when that voice of doubt shows up again and again.

Keep writing.

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If you’d like some tips on how to fight the impostor syndrome and the inner critic, I recorded a podcast episode a while back on this topic. You can find it here:

Your turn:

• Do you struggle to call yourself a “real” writer?

• What keeps you coming back to the page, even when it’s hard?

• What’s one piece of encouragement you’d give another writer who’s doubting themselves right now?

• What helps you stay with the process, even when the result feels far away?