I love writing. Perhaps a love/hate relationship is a more accurate description, on reflection. I was that child who “always had her nose in a book”; even if it made me nauseous on long car journeys, even if my parents scolded me for being antisocial when I chose the company of Enid Blyton or Roald Dahl over any of their dinner companions. Being deaf, the written word is my primary way of understanding the world and its people. Books, subtitles on the TV, messaging rather than phone calls. This doesn’t translate into unbridled confidence as a writer, unfortunately. The only books I’ve written aren’t for sale and I’m not about to post about them on my private Facebook, seeing as they’re guides to sex toys for an adult product retailer. My life’s work as a writer is here, on the Cara Sutra blog. Can I even call myself a writer?
Today I want to examine my imposter syndrome in more detail and talk about the psychological impact of being a so-called unpublished writer. I call this piece “Writing with a Spine” for two reasons. The doubt in myself and my writing that regularly surfaces because I don’t have my name on the spine of a hard copy book. And how important it is to me to continue writing bravely, honestly, vulnerably here on my blog, despite my imposter syndrome and self-doubt.
Am I Really a Writer If I Only Write Online?
I know several authors of actual, tangible books, plenty of which are on my bookshelves. They are all lovely people, hardworking for sure, and in my head they are all “proper writers”. Unlike myself, who I label as “just a blogger”. On a rational level I know that my “online writing work” for 17-18 years has to be writing, it says so right there in the description. Therefore, logically, I am a writer. Irrationally, it’s easy to discount all of that, because I don’t have a shiny spine on my bookshelf bestowing upon me the title of “author”.
In my head all other writers find writing exceptionally easy, as well. They sit down at their calm, clutter-free desks, sip their coffee, crack their knuckles, then type out a perfectly formed piece of prose, manifesto or statement piece first time. I am aware this is hardly likely to resemble reality. This awareness doesn’t help when I second-guess everything that I actually manage to splutter on to the page, delete whole swathes and start again, and press publish with a deep breath and my eyes closed. I don’t find writing easy. It’s like pulling teeth.
The attitude I’ve come across in the adult industry towards bloggers doesn’t help, either. I’m not sure if it’s the same for all industries, because I only have blogging experience in this one. There isn’t the same level of respect which underscores b2b relationships. In the early 2010s it felt to me like sex bloggers weren’t seen as serious colleagues or business partners in the adult industry; bloggers were hobbyists who just did a “bit of blogging” and shared a saucy snap online here and there.
Now we’re in the mid-2020s. Retail marketing in online spaces has dramatically changed. Established, authoritative blog links have value, but the rise of influencers who don’t have a blog and instead amass huge audiences on social media platforms adds to a feeling of inferiority. Ironically, those influencers don’t seem to receive much respect from any corner, either.
Even after a decade of hard, consistent work, it can feel like blogging isn’t serious or valuable work. Despite drawing a full-time income from my sex blogging, I don’t have enormous social media audiences or a shiny book on the shelf. It isn’t surprising that I often wonder if I can really be called a writer at all.
The Assumed Hierarchy of Writing
Publishing a book is an admirable achievement. I want to state that clearly, because my thoughts with regard my own writing work, and attitudes in writing spaces, don’t negate that fact. Whether through a publishing house or going the self-published route, having the patience and skill to craft a book is impressive.
A side-effect of a published book being such a recognised life achievement is that all other writing feels like it sits at various levels underneath that event. That if you enjoy writing, if you write for a living, you must be somewhere along the route to the end destination of having a book published.
As someone who doesn’t have a book published, it’s easy to feel insecure about my writing. No matter how much work goes into it, no matter how many years I’ve been writing for. The assumed hierarchy of writing, with a book at the very top, makes me feel like my own work will never carry the same weight, never be viewed with the same respect.
I’ve absorbed these beliefs without questioning them. The inferiority and insecurity is always there.
Feeling “Less” and Writing Anyway
So, what’s the solution? I don’t have the correct answer, if one even exists; I can only tell you what I’ve decided to try.
Acknowledge my internal inferiority struggles and carry on writing regardless.
With a strong cup of tea, if I’m going to be entirely British about it.
I’m in a phase of life where I am determined to stop needing and chasing external validation so much. Whether that validation is for my writing or any other aspect of my life and self. It’s a complete waste of time and energy. I don’t have an endless supply of either of those; due to chronic illness I am carefully protecting the little energy I do have.
Of course, it isn’t quite as easy as “I’ve decided not to care.” Some days I will publish an article or an essay I’m proud of, and I’ll feel like a “proper writer”. Other days, the imposter syndrome takes the wheel. I’m fraught with self-doubt, paralysed into inertia as I stare deeply into a blank document like it’s a doom-laden crystal ball.
Through it all, the mantra of “keep trying anyway” gets me there in the end. The relief of discarding weighty expectations of myself helps a lot. I’ve worked in marketing for years, and I know my “unique selling point”. No-one else is me. Whatever I write carries my lived experience and the shifting landscape of my family, relationships, and health behind it.
No-one can be just like me anyway. – Just Like Fire, P!nk
What “Writing with a Spine” Means to Me
I may not have a spine on the bookshelf, but I’ve got one in my body. And I’m freshly committed to writing with a backbone. Wherever my writing is published.
Living with M.E., I don’t have excess energy to spare. There are many disadvantages to living with chronic illness, but also one unexpected upside. Having a limited number of spoons each day forces me to choose what matters most. Once I’ve written what I want and need to for my job, done what I can with regards my daily household and life tasks, I have nothing left. I literally can’t waste energy worrying about what every single other person in the world might think about my writing. I’m forced to do my best, then move on. That’s all I can do.
This approach has paved the way for a timely refocus on my core values here on Cara Sutra. Pretending to be something I’m not only reinforces and feeds the imposter syndrome. Stripping away the polished pretence and embracing authenticity, as I did in my recent post about being a sex blogger who doesn’t want to have sex, provides a warm, settled feeling of alignment.
“Writing with a spine” is the only way I will work, going forwards. Getting completely honest, raw and vulnerable doesn’t feel easy, safe or comfortable, but it’s necessary for my inner peace. Feeling the fear and writing anyway doesn’t just provide peaceful alignment, it also contributes to me feeling more like an “actual writer” than when I’m hiding behind easier-to-write comfort zone pieces.
Balancing Honest Writing with Self-Protection
At the same time as I strive to live and write my truths, I am aware that I need to protect myself in a similar way to how I guard my limited energy. There’s a fine balance between honest writing and descending into psychologically dangerous over-exposure.
In years gone by, I have at times written public posts that I now cringe about. Not just the ones with opinions I have since outgrown and discarded as wrong (I once wrote most vehemently on why I’m not a feminist, yikes) but posts detailing intimate aspects of relationships and my sex life that I wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing today. I am still processing the reasons behind my choice to reveal such intimacy in such a public way back then, as well as the changes in me over the years which have led to a different approach to my blog and writing. At the same time I’m working on showing myself compassion, giving grace to the person I was 17-18 years ago that I don’t recognise anymore, and the reasons behind decisions I don’t fully understand.
Now I’m in my mid-40s, I realise that having boundaries I feel truly comfortable with in all aspects of my life is crucial. This isn’t a prudish take on explicit sex blogging, far from it. It’s a realisation that active consent in all things applies to me as much as anyone else in my life. It’s hard-worn acknowledgement that I do truly deserve that level of self-respect.
Sharing everything is not the same as telling the truth.
I don’t have to share everything in order to feel valid, whether that’s as a writer, as a sex blogger, as an adult, or as a woman. It’s strength, not avoidance. The power is in being able to choose.
The Value of Truth Over Tidiness
There is so much beautifully polished writing out there, whether bound in books or published on high-profile websites. Often, even the personal perspective essays take the reader neatly through a journey of difficult realisation, struggle and eventual triumph.
These are satisfying to read, but I believe there is value in writing which represents unfinished slices of life. Writing which shines a spotlight on the relatable feeling of being tossed about within chaos. Where the writer hasn’t emerged into the sunshine of their happily ever after, instead they’re extending an invitation to peek through the spyhole into the storm. There’s no neat arc, no advice. Just the messy reality of human life. This isn’t writing for consumption; it’s writing to communicate.
Sharing my truths in my writing makes me a writer, no matter the medium.
Why Writing Courageously Is So Important to Me
I’m writing this piece as much for myself as for anyone out there it may resonate with. Writing with a spine, even if that spine isn’t one that’s bound on a bookshelf, is a mission statement. One which admittedly sounds a lot more confident than it feels right now.
For me, being brave in my writing is as much about showing kindness to my past, current and future self as it is about being vulnerable and deciding to reveal difficult truths. I’m not a product on a shelf for consumption; I’m a person with psychological and practical complexities. And those complexities are the lifeblood of my writing. They bring it to life; they are the veins which enable me to feel alignment and inner peace as I extend a relatable hand to my readers. I’m choosing slow-brewed difficulty over fast turnaround easy shares. Connection over validation.
In Conclusion, not Happily Ever After
My main writing goal is to keep it real. At the same time, I must ensure that I genuinely consent to whatever I choose to share, instead of surrendering to my own internal pressures to be more interesting, be more shocking, get more attention, chase that elusive external validation.
I’ve come to realise that feeling legitimate as a writer can only come from within myself. There is no external authority which can formally bestow upon me the title of “proper writer”. For now, I’m going to keep on writing anyway, and attempt to keep my imposter syndrome quiet with endless cups of tea.
This doesn’t feel quite finished. And neither am I.
