If you’re a new writer, imposter syndrome has likely moved into your home, unpacked its emotional baggage, and made itself comfortable on your sofa. It doesn’t pay rent, it eats your snacks, and it whispers unhelpful commentary like “You’re not a real writer” and “Everyone else knows what they’re doing.” I know it did to me and still does.
Spoiler: they don’t. Nobody knows what they’re doing. Some just look convincing while panicking.
Imposter syndrome thrives on comparison. You read a brilliant novel and think, “I could never write like that.” Good news: you’re not supposed to. You write like you, and nobody else can do that. Unless you’re being haunted by a particularly literary ghost, in which case you have bigger problems.
New writers assume experienced authors are brimming with confidence. In truth, many are just better at ignoring the little gremlin of doubt chewing on their ankle. They’ve simply learned to keep writing despite it. Imposter syndrome doesn’t fade, it gets bored when you stop feeding it attention.
A good trick? Treat it like an annoying flatmate. Acknowledge its existence, but don’t take its advice. When it says, “Your story is rubbish,” reply, “Probably, but I’m writing it anyway.” When it insists, “You have no idea what you’re doing,” say, “Correct, and look how far I’ve made it regardless.”
Writing is not about feeling qualified. It’s about showing up, typing words, deleting some of them, crying a bit, typing more, and daring to believe that what you’re creating matters. You become a writer by writing, confidence arrives much later, hopefully carrying snacks and wearing pyjama bottoms.
So the next time imposter syndrome pipes up, remind it that you’re busy. You’ve got stories to tell. It can sit quietly in the corner and sulk.
Leave a Reply