What to Say to Your Imposter-Voice

We both get that nagging voice that tells us we’re no good

Do you ever get hit by imposter syndrome? That feeling that you’re not good enough at something? The procrastination or paralysis that comes from that, do you recognise that?

I’m almost laughing because what a stupid question, of course you do. To be creative is to have (had) imposter syndrome.

Last week, I was chatting to two friends who are also book coaches about imposter syndrome and how it shows up every time you want to level up in some way.

For us it meant going from writing a newsletter like this one to giving a live webinar. Or going from an audience of 20 human email subscribers to 200. Imposter syndrome will hit. It will ask me and my friends, and probably you: Are you actually good enough?

It crops up in my writing life too. Last week I opened up a paid tier on my Substack for committed writers who want more than free advice and of course there is that voice in my head that goes: Who are you to ask people to pay for your writing? What if your writing advice sucks?

The thought took me back to every time I start a new fictional story. Who do I think I am to think I can write this? It will surely suck, so why even start?

I’m pretty sure you know exactly what this feels like. It’s destructive thinking, isn’t it? It stops us from doing what we love and what we need.

It also stops our actual voice from being heard, and no matter what Clive tells me (I’ve named my Anxiety Brain Clive. That way I can say: ‘Shush, Clive!’ or ‘Not now, Clive!’ or even ‘It’s okay, Clive, I know you’re nervous, it’s okay, I got you’ and create distance between the anxious thoughts and myself), I know deep inside – sometimes very deep down there indeed – that my voice matters.

Yours does too.

I know we all think that our Clive is worse than someone else’s. That we have the worst thoughts of all.

But that’s just not true. We all have the same parts of the OC neanderthal brain. We all have similar thoughts of us sucking so we keep small and safe so the tigers can’t eat us.

But next time your brain says that your story doesn’t matter and that your writing is shit, tell it this:

I got you. I get what you’re trying to do. What if this indeed fails? Or worse, what if it is successful? Oh my goodness, that feels wonderful but also terrifying! But I won’t let the terror of failing or of winning rule my life. My desire to write will. It must win. So thank you, Imposter. I understand what you’re trying to do and I’ve taken your advice into account, but I choose not to act on it. I decide, not you. Goodbye.

I know you won’t actually say this, but my point is to show you the distinction between you and your desire to write, and the fearful slash protective part of your brain. They are part of one brain but still distinct entities working towards different goals.

Desire versus staying safe. An ongoing battle within, but one you should feel no shame over.

Want more mindset shifts and craft tips to make your writing journey easier?

Sandra Postma

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