I wrote this several months ago and then it got lost in my drafts folder. In fact it seems like I have a few drafts to polish and share... Life has been hard to keep track of lately!

On Feeling Like You Have Nothing Worth Saying

I get imposter syndrome frequently and devastatingly. I want to delete all my sites and blogs especially after I've written something thoughtful after mulling over it for weeks and researching to feel less dumb.

Not the "I don't know enough" kind, exactly. More like...
This has already been said.
Someone else said it better.
Why would anyone read this?
Why would anyone pay for this? $2 or $20 or anything at all?

It's the sense that my words don't carry enough weight to justify taking up space (or pixels).

When you're alone with a journal, writing can be messy, contradictory, unfinished. It can trail off mid-thought and no one minds but your future self. But the moment you imagine a reader, the questions start piling up. Is this useful? Is it original? Is it necessary? And when you look out at the internet, at the voices and essays and think pieces and perfectly-worded posts, it's easy to conclude that the answer is no. But I find that conclusion is based on a few assumptions that aren't actually true.

One of them is the idea that writing is only valuable if it delivers something entirely new. A fresh take. A never-before-seen insight, as if originality is a rare mineral and most of us are just sifting through dirt hoping to stumble across it. In reality, much of writing's value doesn't come from novel ideas. Rather, it comes from how you express it. 20 poems about the same topic can hit you in 400 different meaningful ways. So can your "boring life" blog posts.

There is a difference between thoughts that live only in your head and thoughts that are shaped into sentences for someone else. Writing for an audience forces clarity that journaling doesn't require. You notice the gaps. You have to decide what you actually mean, then articulate it. You make choices about emphasis, tone, linearity, and sequence. In doing so, you often learn what you think by trying to explain it. (Or at least I do.) That alone is a reason to write and share: to improve your own writing and articulation muscles.

Another assumption is that your perspective isn't unique because others share your interests, references, or themes. But expressing your perspective in your voice includes your context, constraints, emotions, and how you arrived there. It's a mess of specific experiences that led you to frame the idea that way.

There's also another part to this that we often overlook but I noticed last year about myself: people don't always write what they read. You might consume polished essays and long-form criticism and feel like your own writing doesn't measure up. But what you're drawn to as a reader isn't always what you're meant to create as a writer. Some people read for instruction and write for processing. Some read theory and write fragments. Some read structure and write feeling.

Imposter syndrome can creep in when you're trying to write in a mode that isn't actually where your comfort lies yet. Maybe you don't feel like you're expert enough to share your thoughts; you need to feel like you've studied every angle first.

The discomfort isn't always a sign that you're unqualified... sometimes it's a sign you haven't found the shape that fits you.

And then there's the part where sharing your creativity does something beyond what you can predict. You genuinely do not know who will read your words... Who will feel less alone because you articulated something they hadn't found language for yet. Who will feel nudged to try writing themselves... not because your work was perfect, but because it was honest and human and reachable. Sometimes your writing gives someone else permission to engage in theirs. Even if your writing doesn't change anyone else's life, it still changes yours. It becomes a record of your thinking over time. Sharing externalizes your inner world so it doesn't all have to live inside you. Blogging or writing about your life is a practice of paying attention. It's slow living.

So if like me you find yourself hesitating because you feel like you have nothing of value to say, it might help to reframe the question.
Not: Is this important enough?
But: What does this help me understand? Who might it reach? What kind of writing am I actually trying to make?
Your voice doesn't need to be the loudest in the room. It's enough that it's yours.