Antonia Bernardin

Since 2021 I have done yearly reflections on imposter syndrome and how I have experienced it. These posts definitely focused more on how I experienced it professionally and also somewhat in my relationships with friends and family.

Every time I have done one of these imposter syndrome reflections, a liiiitle section about writing has been tacked onto the end. That in itself was imposter syndrome rearing its head because literally who am I to have ongoing crisis of confidence about the first career I can ever remember really wanting? (Besides an ill fated phase where I wanted to be an actress – 10 years of theatre school and not one main part was a sign).

Because, honestly, I can’t believe I’m still talking about this… I literally write content for a living. I spend my entire days writing, yes, it’s not fiction, but still, if I can creatively write about paper carrier bags or single cell research, actual creative writing should be a walk in the park. Right?

To add to how ridiculous this whole issue is, you are on the blog, that I write in, for free, right now. A blog that is growing. A blog people seem to coming to even though I do commit some marketing sins in that I don’t niche the blog down too much and I don’t do perfect SEO because I want it to feel human. And yet, people have found it anyway, it shows up in searches anyway. People read what I write, people from all over the world map.

So, to recap:

I have two forms of evidence that my writing, is at least good enough to produce growing accounts, both personally and professionally.

So, what is the problem?

What if I’m not good enough?

The thing is, for work, I had no choice but to do the scary thing because… like… it was my job. And when things did well, then that was enough evidence for me to overcome this whole thing with time.

As for the blog, for a long time there was like three people who read this blog (if you are one of those long term followers, just know every like from you meant sooo much).

The growth was slow and steady until a couple posts pleased the Google gods in 2023 and then things have moved faster. But there’s still a degree of separation. You can’t leave reviews telling me how bad this is (besides comments) and it’s not worth someone’s time to make Tiktoks ranting about my little book blog.

At uni I did do an English lit and creative writing degree and how that course made me feel has had long lasting effects, but uni was scarily 10 years ago so at some point that can’t have as much relevance? Right? Nor the not-so-nice-ex partner who used to tell me some pretty terrible things about my writing and me wanting to be a writer in general?

I would hate to think of those people winning, all these years later.

And I know art is subjective and what I write won’t be for everyone regardless of how well written it is.

When I was younger, I used to say, I don’t care if what I write ends up in a bargain bin somewhere, I just want a book be out in the ether.

But, that’s not true for me anymore, I think it would break my heart if I finally did the thing and it flopped.

So, while I do nothing, the book that never was can be both incredible and terrible.

If I could create it and then never be made aware of anyone reading it, whether they had good or bad opinions, that would be ideal.

A conclusion and a pledge

But, here’s the thing, I recently did an extremely self pitying tiktok on this very subject and the prevailing opinion of the very kind comments was this (paraphrased):

“Do it anyway, you won’t regret it, even if it does badly you still wrote a book“

“It’s scary but worth it”

“It’s hard work but worth it”

“It took until my 3rd book but now it’s doing well on kindle”

and so on, and so on…

So, once my move is over with, this is my promise to myself and whichever internet buddies want to hold me to account.

This is the year I will stop pussy footing around and just do the thing.

Just like everything else, doing it scared, until it’s not so scary anymore.

I have worked hard building this blog and accompanying social accounts to help support this goal (plus find book buddies). Now that I’m starting to gain traction, this would be the right time to do it and I don’t want to look back and realise I missed my moment.

In conclusion:

Fuck imposter syndrome

Fuck my brain

We’re fucking doing this thing.

(My dad’s retirement plan somewhat hinges on me getting a major book deal and I’m pretty sure my partner would happily support his full time author girlfriend and never work again if he could so you know… would be rude not at least try.

Anyway, there’s a category full of things I wrote called My writing, go check it out if I’ve created enough pity for me throughout this post I guess.