Letting Go of Impostor Syndrome

In case you're not aware, impostor syndrome is that anxious feeling that you are a fraud and when everyone else finds out, there will be hell to pay. It is particularly common in creative fields, such as writing, visual art, performance art, etc. People in non-creative fields can also experience it.

I struggled with impostor syndrome for much of my life. Not so much linked with my creative work, but with the idea that I'm an okay person that people would want to be around. I was terrified that if they saw the real me, they would run away in horror.

And here's the kicker. That really happened.

I came out as transgender in the late 1980s/early 1990s. I had known I was a girl my whole life. But it wasn't until shortly after college that I had the courage to do something about it, much less know how to go about transitioning into life as a woman. So for more than twenty years, I suffered from a form of impostor syndrome.

And when I came out, I lost everyone. Spouse, family, friends, job, church, the whole schpiel.

For the next few years, I focused not only on my physical transition, but also on dealing with the trauma from the experience. I'll be honest. I didn't deal so with it at first. Compulsive drinking is not the healthiest response to trauma.

Eventually, I learned some tools for letting go of a lot of my shitting thinking. Letting go of my attachment to the expectations of others. Letting go of the need to be perfect, while still ever-striving to be better. Letting go of my own self-perceptions and being willing to see myself differently. And of course, letting go of drinking.

This was not an overnight transformation. There was a lot of shit I had to unpack, examine, and let go of. A lot of new ways of thinking to slowly adopt.

One of the biggest new tools was the beginner's mind. Beginner's mind, in a nutshell, is giving yourself permission to not be perfect. To be a beginner. To give yourself permission to make mistakes, to not know how to do everything. It is about trusting the process.

I didn't get back into writing until 2007. I started by writing a "novel" during National Novel Writing Month, often called NaNoWriMo. The goal of NaNoWriMo is to write a 50,000+ word novel during the month of November. And by golly, I managed to do it. So then I wondered, now what?

It had always been my dream to be a published writer. So I joined some local critique groups. I learned how much my writing SUCKED! Everyone was very helpful and encouraging, but I made all the same mistakes writers make. Info dumps, flat characters, wooden dialogue, no sense of structure.

But I was okay with that. I accepted that I was a beginner, even though I had a degree in journalism and had done some creative writing when I was younger. Writing is a craft with dozens of skills to master. And the only way to master them is to get it wrong, learn from your mistakes, get it less wrong the next time, make more adjustments, and on and on.

Progress, not perfection. That is one of the slogans of AA that was drilled into my head at meetings. And it applied to my writing as well as my sobriety.

After eight years of practicing my craft, I wrote a novel (the third I had written). I started submitting it to agents. I submitted to 90 agents, got four requests for partials, two requests for fulls, and an offer from one of New York's finest agencies. In time, I signed a two-book deal with one of Penguin Random House's digital-first imprints.

Had I made it? Was I now a successful author? No. I was a newly published author. I was just a beginner. An egg. And I knew that regardless of whatever praise (or criticism) my books got, that it was okay. Because this was simply another step in the process.

After two books with mediocre sales, Penguin Random House opted not to extend the deal to more books. Was I a failure? No. I was an author with two books with mediocre sales. I was still beginning this process.

I took the leap from traditional publishing to indie publishing. This gave me a whole slew of new things to learn how to do. Things I would screw up at first. And then do a little better. And then a little better than that. I would try things that wouldn't work, then try something else, learning all the way.

I'm gearing up to release my fifth novel this December. I still have my day job. In fact, I still spend more money on hiring editors and cover designers than I make in revenue. Am I a failure? No. I'm a beginner. There are people with 20 or more books who still have a day job. Still growing. Still building a brand. Still learning how to write the next book. Still a beginner. And that is okay.

And I will tell you that there are times when imposter syndrome creeps up a little in me. Like when Holly West invited me to contribute to Murder-A-Go-Go's, that fabulous anthology with so many well-known authors. It was like being a teenager who gets invited to sit at the adult's table.

Me hanging with Kellye Garrett

But on the rare occasion that those feelings of impostor syndrome sneak in, I remind myself to trust the process. Because I may not be as cool as Steve Lauden, or an award winner like Kellye Garrett, or as sexy and talented as Nadine Nettmann, I'm still me. And being included is an opportunity to grow.

When you start to feel like an impostor, if you get nominated for an award that you feel you aren't worthy of, or if you get a glowing review from that fan who loves to rave about you, take a breath.

Remember you are on a journey. Maybe you're not as good as some of your raving fans think you are. But you're a helluva lot better than your worst critics think you are. And it's not your job to be your worst critic.

No matter how many books you've written, you're still a beginner. Embrace that beginner's mind. Give yourself permission to be imperfect. You are continuing to learn how to write better. Every book is an experiment, a journey, and a process. Learn to trust that process.

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As one of the only transgender authors in crime fiction, Dharma Kelleher brings a unique voice to the genre, specializing in gritty thrillers with a feminist kick. 

She is the author of the Jinx Ballou bounty hunter series and the Shea Stevens outlaw biker series. You can learn more about Dharma and her work at https://dharmakelleher.com.

It's a fine, fine life. Or not.

by: Joelle Charbonneau

Being an actor, a writer or any kind of artist really sucks. I mean it. Published. Unpublished. Paid performer, musician, artist or unpaid. It all sucks. Whether you are making a living at your chosen art form or having to work three jobs in order to pursue your dream – being an artist is hard, hard work. When my voice students tell me that they want to be a professional performer, I tell them all the reasons why it sucks – the uncertainty of a paycheck, the blows to your ego, the fierce competition day in and day out, etc... etc… etc… And if they still say there is nothing else they want to do, well, then I roll up my sleeves and help them do it. But I always keep the reality of the difficult nature of the business in front of them.

No matter how talented you are at writing, no matter how hard you work to perfect your craft and your story telling – there is no guarantee that you will make it as a writer. And while you are working to perfect your voice and your skills there aren’t any tests or measurements you can take to definitively demonstrate your improvement. Yeah – that really sucks.

In school they teach you something. You learn it to the best of your ability. You take a test and you pass or fail based on the hard work you do. In most day jobs you often have reachable benchmarks to measure your success. Did you hit your sales targets? Did you finish the project by your deadline? Did you learn to use the new computer software or teach Moby Dick to your class of high schoolers? Those are measurable goals. You can put a grade after each one to tell you how well you did.

With writing success isn’t so easy to define. There is nothing measurable other than the number of words and pages that you create – and even then there is nothing to tell you if they are good pages. Yes – and editor, an agent or a fellow writer might give you their opinion, but that opinion is just that. An opinion. Art is subjective. What one loves, another will not understand and a third will hate.

Yep – we are all crazy to be in this business.

A writer, a performer, an artist cannot measure success by publishing contracts and jobs. If you do that you are just setting yourself up for unhappiness. You won’t sell every book. You won’t land every role in a show. You won’t get great reviews every time you put your work in front of the public. Those things can’t define who you are. If they do – you might as well hang it up now.

Performer, writers and all artists have to have an inner self-confidence that says “I’ve created something and I am proud of it” in order to survive. This isn’t arrogance – that is something VERY different. That is something that says your way is right and the rest of the world is wrong if they don’t see it. No, I am talking about a quiet sense of certainty that you have strived for your best and that no matter what happens you will not regret the time and effort you put into any project. Because, like I said last week, writing (or performing, or the creation of any art) needs to be for you. If you do it because you are compelled to – you won’t be sorry. If you are looking for measurable success and your name in lights – go find a therapist. Trust me. You’ll need one.