I’ve developed a decent understanding of imposter syndrome over the years. As a journalist, readers wrote to me on a weekly basis to tell me just how bad I was at my job. I had editors who said the same. And then I started a fiction workshop.
I didn’t launch the workshop because I thought I’d be any good at moderating it. I started it because there wasn’t another one in Naples at the time that I was able to attend. The one I remember finding in 2014 met on Tuesday mornings, but I was too busy working as a “very bad” reporter to join.
I enjoyed moderating the workshop, and over the past 12 years I’ve certainly improved in my role. Though if you ask me what my credentials are, I find myself struggling:
“I write professionally.”
“Well no, I’m not a published novelist.”
“But I have published a couple short stories online.”
“No, I don’t have my masters.”
“Well I majored in newspaper journalism and minored in creative writing.”
“Yeah, I actually studied fiction in Dublin, Ireland.”
“Well, just for six weeks.”
“I love reading.”
“No, I haven’t read that book. I haven’t read that author at all, actually.”
The imposter feeling increased when we started our podcast more than seven years ago. If you read the comments and reviews on iTunes, YouTube and Spotify, you’ll see just how much people hate hearing me talk about writing.
“They pick good stories but their analysis is weak.”
“This podcast fills the niche for those who like a reactionary analysis informed by little to no background research and devoid of any analysis.”
And my favorite, in it’s entirety:
I don’t lose sleep over these comments. Not because I don’t believe them. I do. I agree that I probably shouldn’t have a literary podcast. I also don’t like Edgar Allen Poe’s writing, and I agree that makes me an idiot of sorts.
And in the meantime, I’ve learned so much by doing this podcast. And unfortunately for listeners, that learning happens in the exact moments when they’re thinking to themselves “This woman should not have a literary podcast.” Talking through my thoughts, articulating ideas, bouncing them off of my cohost — those are the moments when I realize what I think and feel about a subject, and I can feel my brain making little connections. If a story feels beyond my understanding, that’s when I have to discuss it. That’s where the learning happens.
So, I don’t lose sleep over these messages because I’ve been hearing this my entire career. And anything you could say about me in the comments, I’ve already thought about myself. Actually, if there’s one thing I’m confident in my ability to do, it’s demean myself. Many women excel in this field.
And as I near the age of 40, I realize imposter syndrome will remain the little devil on my shoulder. The one telling me I shouldn’t be writing or talking about writing or giving advice to other writers. And weirdly, I’m fine with it these days. Because I think a lot of us are out there navigating the world and feeling this way. And if we all stopped trying things we weren’t sure we were good at, nothing would get done. Certainly there’d be less art to look at, fewer books to read. I don’t think the solution is to get over imposter syndrome so much as to learn how to accept it and try anyway.
— Kristine
She "constantly criticizes famous male authors of the past" makes me wonder if this is an unfamous male author of the present who's having trouble swallowing his bitter pill.
I think the worst addiction is dependance on the opinions of other people. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, but if I get too invested in them, I will never be comfortable with what I have written.