There is a particular fear that visits many creatives.
It does not shout. It whispers.
Are you really an artist?
Do you belong here?
Who do you think you are?
For years, I carried a quiet disqualification inside me. I took art classes in high school and college. But in college, I was an English major - not an art major. And for a long time, I subtly held that against myself. As though choosing one path meant forfeiting the other. As though not having the “right” degree meant I had less claim to the word artist.
Over the years, I’ve had the privilege of exhibiting my work in more than 50 art shows. Some were juried call-for-entry exhibitions I was accepted into. More than a dozen were by invitation - an honor I don’t take lightly.
By many external measures, I’ve had moderate success as a primarily self-taught artist.
And still…
Imposter syndrome found its way in.
When Imposter Syndrome Is a Trauma Response
Imposter syndrome is often described as self-doubt despite evidence of competence. But for many women, it goes deeper than that. It can be a nervous system response shaped by earlier experiences:
Being criticized when you shined.
Being ignored when you spoke.
Being told you were too sensitive.
Too ambitious.
Too emotional.
Too much.
Or not enough.
When we grow up learning that visibility leads to rejection, our bodies remember. So when we step forward - launch the website, submit the work, claim the title - something inside may tighten. Not because we are frauds. But because we once learned that being fully seen was unsafe. Imposter syndrome can be an old survival strategy trying to protect us from shame.
The Myth of the “Real” Artist
Somewhere along the way, many of us absorbed a rigid definition of legitimacy:
A real artist has a degree.
A real artist makes a full-time living from their work.
A real artist is confident and certain.
But that definition collapses under lived experience. Being a “real” artist has very little to do with titles, sales, or accolades.
What matters is the relationship with the work.
The willingness to show up.
The courage to listen inward.
The honesty to let art become a place of healing, inquiry, and truth.
Art has been one of the ways I’ve made sense of my inner world when words fell short. It has held me through grief, growth, trauma, joy, and transformation.
The healing happens in the process - not the performance.
Not in the validation.
Not in the numbers.
Growth Will Trigger the Old Stories
Here is something I’ve learned slowly and gently:
Imposter syndrome often gets louder when you are expanding.
When you claim your voice.
When you allow yourself to be visible.
When you begin to own your authority.
If you have a history of being minimized or dismissed, growth can feel destabilizing. Your nervous system may interpret expansion as danger. But discomfort does not equal inauthenticity. Sometimes it simply means you are outgrowing an old identity.
You Do Not Need to Erase the Fear to Move Forward
Healing is not about eliminating doubt. It is about building enough safety inside yourself that you no longer abandon your calling when doubt appears.
You can feel afraid — and still create.
You can feel uncertain — and still show up.
You can feel exposed — and still belong.
If you create because something inside you needs expression…
You are an artist.
If art helps you heal, remember, reclaim, or become more fully yourself…
You are an artist.
Full stop.
You do not need unanimous approval. You do not need a certificate. You need a relationship with your own creative life - and the courage to continue.
A Gentle Reflection
When imposter syndrome whispers, instead of asking:
“Am I a fraud?”
You might ask:
“Where did I first learn that being visible was unsafe?”
And then - gently - choose to keep creating anyway.
If this resonates, I’d love to hear what creating has given you.
Create boldly. Live beautifully.
Want to Go Deeper?
If this conversation stirred something in you - if you are healing, remembering, reclaiming your voice - I share more reflections like this in my monthly newsletter, What’s Blooming in the Orchid Garden.
It’s where I write more personally about creativity, embodiment, healing, and the courage to become who you truly are.
You’re warmly invited.