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. 

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.

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.

If you’re the kind of person whose brain is constantly firing off new ideas, I get it. It’s exciting. It’s intoxicating. It’s also a nightmare when you actually need to do something with them. Instead of feeling inspired, you feel stuck. Pulled in a thousand directions. Unsure where to start. You want to move forward, but the sheer volume of ideas keeps you paralyzed.

Impostor syndrome whispers that your voice doesn’t matter, that you’re unworthy of visibility, that you are not the expert others believe you to be. But here’s the truth: You cannot be an impostor of your own life.