on imposter syndrome...

and the many phases of womanhood

“I am a writer”, are words I have never spoken to anyone asking what I do.

When people inquire what it is you do with your time, it’s generally assumed they mean how do you earn a living. Writing has never paid my bills. But, as I sit here in late at night with my family sleeping around me, it is writing that accompanies me, the soft glow of the screen and the tapping of the keys hypnotize me as I slip into a reverie that makes the rest of the world fall away.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a mother. That was my main goal and desire in life. When I became one, I both lost myself and gained a new self. As many women do. I was chatting with a friend recently about the many phases women go through, the monumental changes, physical and emotional, that come with motherhood, with being needed on such an enormous and intense level that you almost can’t breathe… and then finding yourself on the other end, gasping for air and sliding about on the slippery rocks of uncertainty.

I willingly submitted to motherhood with everything I had. For years my days were nap schedules and tiny pieces of laundry and poop (theirs), and boobs (mine) and tears (ours). And it has been a beautiful and absolutely raw and transformational period. And some of the hardest and most difficult. Some of the most isolating. Some of the most wondrous.

And recently I’ve felt the shift. They need me less. They need me in different ways. They need me in ways that leave me time to ponder who I am now and what I want to do with the next 50, 60, 70 years of my life. Having kids humbles you, and I care less now, about things that don’t matter, about the voices in my head that tell me I’m not good enough or pretty enough or stylish enough or strong enough or or or or

This plays into how I get dressed now, as well. I care less about the male gaze and more about what feels good to me, what looks interesting in shape or color, texture, fabrics that have a nice drape and a good hand feel. It’s both more straightforward and more playful, more practical yet quietly whimsical. Me announcing to the world “This is me! I am here! But I might have to go down the slide after I chase down my dreams so I’m ready for that too!!”

I’ve leaned into woman designers, as they just understand what women want to put on their bodies, what women who wear so many hats reach for day after long day, Jamie Haller , Vincent James, Natalie Borton Designs , Clare V , Freda Salvador , Ozma of California, 80 Muze , and Abby Alley is a short list of women creating clothing, shoes, accessories, jewelry… and yes, hats, that are like a sigh of relief when I put them on.

As I’ve started leaning into sharing parts of myself more, I get messages asking my opinion on what’s “cool” or what I think about a certain look or trend. While flattered, I think “Who am I?”, “Who am I to tell anyone what’s cool or what looks good or what you should wear or do?” Imposter syndrome knocks on my door- hell, it just walks straight in. And I have to fight hard to keep my head on straight and remind myself none of it matters. We can all be who we want and there’s room for us all.

The phases, the chapters, the waning and waxing, the ebb and flow. The beautiful and the hard.

So today, I’m going to get dressed in an outfit I love and when my kids tell me I “look beautiful, mama” I’m going to believe them, and if today someone asks me what I do I’m going to tell them “I’m a writer”.

Photo by Thom Milkovic on Unsplash

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