Imposter Syndrome Artists - it's real

There's something funny about getting together with artists you admire.

You spend weeks looking forward to it. Packing your journals, picking your favorite pens, throwing in one too many watercolor pens "just in case." You imagine long conversations, inspiration, breakthroughs, and maybe even coming home with your creative cup overflowing.

Honestly? A lot of that happened...

Indianapolis gave me scribbled pages and laughter that made my stomach hurt, four of us wandering the adorable town of Carmel and deep conversations that went late into the night. Coffee and too much food, the really amazing kind, and the particular magic of being in a room full of women making things with their hands while they talk. Paper everywhere. Brushes. Paint. Bits and bobs passed around the table, totally my kind of place.

And yet somewhere in the middle of all that beauty, that old monster quietly walked in. Imposter syndrome. She doesn't usually knock. She just sneaks in, sits right down beside you, and starts whispering. Look how fast she works. Look how effortlessly that comes to her. Why can't you loosen up like that? Maybe you're not really an artist after all. And just like that, I froze. My hands got tight, my negative inner voice louder. I started second-guessing every mark, every color, every piece of paper I touched. I made a mess, and not the good kind. It was the kind of mess that makes you want to clean up your space quietly and pretend you're just observing, and gosh, I hate admitting that. After all these years of teaching women to trust the process and make their mark I was doing exactly what I taught tehm not to do. But there I was stuck, quiet, a little embarrassed, and honestly a lot sad.

However, it's in these moments where women matter. It's not the followers or algorithms. And certainly not a perfectly curated feed. Strong Women -Friends who notice when your energy shifts. Friends who gently remind you that your work doesn't have to look like theirs. Friends who see you before you can see yourself again.

You see I was on retreat with three incredibly gifted, generous, big-hearted artists. Kellee Wynne creates layered, expressive abstract work and has this beautiful way of helping artists find their business and trust their own voice, she's one of those people who makes you believe you can. Susan Yeates sees the world through sketchbooks, watercolor, nature, and everyday observation in a way that makes you want to slow down, look closer, and fall in love with the ordinary. And Tish Reed brings so much texture, story, and soul into everything she makes, especially her florals — her work has a way of making you feel something before you even fully understand it. Being in a room with all three of them was such a beautiful gift; and between their encouragement, our laughter, too much cake, and the kind of honest conversations that only happen when you're tired and trusting, something important smacked me in the face.

I am not supposed to make art like they do. And thank goodness for that.

Because my hands were made for my marks, my messy journals and my scribbled sketches started before sunrise. My bits of fabric and forgotten treasures gathered into little piles waiting to become something. My tiny stitched prayer flags full of beads, thread, scraps, and symbols pressed into something small and sacred. My slow canvas layers, painted over days and weeks and perhaps months until something finally clicks. My messy scribbled journal entries done my way. That's what I came home with, and it's worth more than any breakthrough I could have forced.

All of that trip helped me chill in the now I am circling in. I'm technically "behind" on my 100 Day Project right now. I'm somewhere around day 30 and yes, we are wayyyyyyyy past the actual 30-day mark on the calendar, but I refuse to call it behind, okay? Because life happened. April happened fully, loudly, and without apology. Teaching. Funerals. Aging parents. Nutrition regrouping, hormones out of wack and the kind of exhaustion that settles into your bones before you realize how tired you actually are. Real, full, demanding, beautiful, heartbreaking life happened.

And still — I keep creating. Maybe not every day and not on schedule for Instagram, but I kept coming back. A sketch in my journal. A few more layers on the big canvas in the corner, a prayer flag taking shape in my hands. A little pile of fabric and bits and bobs slowly becoming something I don't have words for yet. I kept returning to it, even when I was overwhelmed, even when I felt behind, even when I felt like I had nothing left to give.

I'm realizing that maybe the practice isn't finishing or keeping up and not the perfect daily post or the completed challenge. The practice is returning — returning to your hands, to your materials, to yourself — especially when life gets loud, when comparison creeps in and sits down beside you uninvited. And especially when you feel behind and small and like maybe you should just be watching instead of making. I have been doing all three little art practices in these 100 days, and that alone has kept the Imposter Syndrome Artist at bay, and my Joy has been sneaking its way back in. 

           

Creating is part of me. It's not something I do when life is easy or when inspiration strikes or when the timing is right. It's what I come back to when everything else is too much. It's how I find myself again. And in the dark, overloaded, frustrated moments, those are exactly the moments I need to hold on to it most.

Behind doesn't always mean failing. Sometimes it just means you're living a full life and still choosing to come back. And I'm pretty sure that counts more than finishing ever could.

So tell me — where have you been showing up for yourself lately, even imperfectly? I'd really love to know.