The other day on Twitter, a young woman I didn't know posted that she felt like there was no point in writing because she could never be "as good as" some of the published writers she was reading.
I decided to reply to her - this is a Pay It Forward business and I have A LOT to pay forward.
"*pssst* Can I share a not-so-secret secret? We all feel this way. Every single one of us. Bestsellers, award winners, mid-list, indie ... if you DON'T think it, you're either lying or you're an idiot."
And it's true. The vast majority of writers I know admit to feeling unprepared to write a book. No matter how many they've written and published. Sue Grafton. Hank Philippi Ryan. Neil Gaiman. Maya Angelou.
It's not just limited to authors, although I think authors and other creatives are especially prone to it, but human nature to doubt ourselves.
It's easy to give a stranger advice over the internet. I have no skin in that particular game. I can drop my little piece of wisdom handed down to me from the writers who came before and hope it sticks.
When you're a parent, it's an entirely different matter. I have nothing but skin in that game. I literally made this person's skin and their bones and their brain.
In the past ten days, I have attended the Admitted Freshman Day at the college my daughter will be attending starting this August and she turned eighteen. Two milestones in a young adult's life. Except she was the same girl after those two events that she was before them.
That's not just my perspective. It's hers. She'll always be my 'little' girl (she's been taller than me for five years now so little isn't literal) but she's come to the moment in her life where she's realizing that while she is a legal adult she doesn't feel like an adult.
She's an impostor adult in her mind. An impostor adult that is allowed to make her own decisions about her medical care, to pierce or tattoo her own skin, who to vote for, whether to open an IRA - regardless of what I want or what her father wants. Except she has spent eighteen years asking for things - can I do this? can I have that? what should I eat? what should I study? what should I wear? All decisions we've done our best to put more and more back on her in the past few years.
But she doesn't feel qualified to make those decisions. She wants the freedom to make her own choices but is afraid of the consequences of making the wrong choice. The fear in her eyes when I explained to her that feeling that way was the most adult she'd likely ever feel should have made me sad but letting her in on the secret was her biggest milestone.
"You mean, I won't ever really feel like an adult?"
No, my precious girl, you will never never feel like an adult. Adults have jobs and pay bills; buy houses and have babies; get new jobs and move to new places; raise kids and send them out into the world but inside we're all waiting for that moment that someone looks at us and sees for the first time that we should not be in charge of anything let alone other, smaller, more vulnerable people.
That's never happened to me. Not even once. I guess we should all be grateful there's no website to "review" our adulting like there are to review our writing.It would really suck to have to read that my parenting looks like "a poor imitation of June Cleaver on her worst day" or that my cooking is "an abysmal crime against carrots."
Let me tell you though - those people would never be invited to my house for dinner again. My carrots are excellent! Steamed until tender but not too soft, tossed with butter, honey, and a dash of cinnamon. Go ahead. Try them. I'll wait.
I’m right there with you. I’m still trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up.
Posted by: Mark | April 16, 2019 at 08:37 AM
So much yes. Thank you for this post, Aimee. (Congrats to your daughter too!)
Posted by: Cynthia Kuhn | April 16, 2019 at 09:15 PM