Imposter Syndrome

Florré

Am I creative? I’m submerged, drowned out by the other creatives. The more creative creatives. They’re out-creating me, they’re creating better than me. I lost my touch. I lost my voice. I lost my confidence. Back to the drawing board, back to the notebook, back to brainstorming and brainstorming and completing and competing and building my flame. The satisfied grin is back. I did that. I did that. I did it alone. No one noticed. Did it happen? Did it matter? Am I still satisfied? Am I a creative? I’m just a writer. A writer among a sea of people with better laptops and better words. They have so many words. Where did they collect all these words? More keyboards and more cameras, better producers, better artists, better ideas. I’m just a wee creative. Look at my art. Look at my words. Look how hard I’m trying. Why am I even trying? Because it makes me feel good. I like this. I like doing this. I feel good when I’m doing this. My most honest work is in my journal, for my eyes only. The rest is quieter anyway.