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.

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. 

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.

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.

There are two voices pulling you in different directions. One wants you to stay small, secure, and acceptable. The other wants you to step into a life that stretches you beyond recognition. Learning to distinguish between them changes everything — your business, your creativity, your relationships, your becoming.

You feel it: the pull to create something original, to teach from lived experience, and speak in a voice that feels like your own. That instinct is the beginning of a body of work. The problem is we tend to imagine a body of work as something we build after we’ve become who we’re meant to be. We mistake it for proof of arrival—when in truth, it’s how we get there.