Starting something new automatically means stepping into uncertainty and risking imperfection. It means making yourself visible. It’s vulnerable, and it forces you to be open to both rejection and reward. With the overwhelming mix of emotions in play, it’s no wonder so many people never make it past the starting line. 

There are very few things in life you can count on. People will leave and identities will shed like old skin. The world will change around you. Money will come and go, happiness will ebb and flow. Life will happen, and as it does, almost nothing will stay the same. But you do have one thing that will never abandon you: your voice.

One of the first things I had to give up in this work was caring what other people thought. Not in a flippant, surface-level, “I don’t give a shit” kind of way. I mean in the deeper, cellular sense of unhooking myself from external validation, of refusing to let other people’s opinions, reactions, or silence determine what, or whether I create.

I’ve never been what you’d call “disciplined.” I’ve struggled with structure my whole life. I can’t be rigid, and I rebel against systems. But one of the most profound transformations of my journey has been becoming someone who is devoted to their life’s work. When devotion came along, everything felt different.

Impostor syndrome doesn’t care about your resume, your accomplishments, or your intentions. It sneaks in quietly and asks, “Who do you think you are?” It whispers doubts, second-guesses your abilities, and casts shadows over your successes.

But here’s the truth: your voice is already valid.

You might think that given all the content I produce, both for myself and for my clients, that I’ve somehow graduated from the chaos of the creative process. That I’ve transcended the doubt and disarray. That I sit down to write and something clear, potent, and original filters through my fingertips like magic. But you would be wrong.