Last night I couldn’t sleep. I let the story of my struggle with anxiety seep out of my pores and out into the scary internet and it scares me and I don’t always want to confess that, but anxiety is real and I can almost touch it most days.

What is Imposter Syndrome?

Imposter syndrome sets in around 2 a.m. And my mind’s lie-reel flickers on and pride’s insecure nature opens for business, with social media as it’s chief witness on the stand: an industry professional I admire offhandedly Periscope-utters that calligraphy’s an oversaturated market and I equate that to “I’m doomed” despite my steady stream of jobs. Instagram scrolling leaves me feeling captive to a second-rate success — “always a bridesmaid” is the phrase that comes to mind. Copywriting? There are enough writers. Facebook tells me so. “God, there’s someone out there already doing that. Thanks for thinking of me, but it looks like you gave someone that idea earlier than you nested it in the folds of my brain.”

Do you ever feel that way after social media binging? Do you ever struggle with imposter syndrome?

The Creative Industry’s Bent Towards “Fraud” Thought

You and I, as creatives, we put out ART, for God’s sake. Art — the most personal thing I own, for it’s the way my brain catalogs information. And when I draw quotes and catalog and tether fancies into words, I’ve boxed them. Like J.K. Rowling’s Pensieve I string them out of my head and can see them. It’s lovely.

So we put out art, raw and real, and let it like a baby pup out of our arms out into the world where sure, it may be loved and coddled on a feed, but it could also get kicked under the coffee table.

If you follow liturgy of the church, you may know today is Good Friday. The ultimate day of the church calendar where I realize I’m no match. I’m brave and I’m strong and I’m creative and I’m disciplined, but no. No, I’m no match for the powers of hell. Wasn’t, never will be. Praise God.

So where as a creative do I get off thinking I can combat imposter syndrome lies?

Here’s What I Really Want to Tell the Imposter Syndrome Ringleader Named Social Media

(“Is she gonna whip out the God-card on social media?” Yes. Yes, she is.)

I’m adding praying against these lies to my war room prayer list. I’m not so contrite and naive to know “I’m such a fake” won’t rear it’s head again, but for now, no.

No, Instagram and social media, you cannot have my soul. You’re a cool invention and I understand the internet thinks the world is ending when algorithms change, but y’all, I’m a double-headed coin: while the artist in me buries her head in her hands, the professional marketing expert in me that’s studied this for years rolls her eyes — friend, we’re RENTING social media. We don’t own our followers. Our accounts. Our feeds. It’s not technically even an owned asset like your brand and your email list are.

And like Ashley Buzzy McHugh said, if that’s the new endgame Instagram, I admit defeat. Totally okay with it.

I don’t really want to win that way either, Ashley. I’ve looked up to you for years, and hearing you say that on your blog? I can breathe.

I love this. Lettered by Ashley Buzzy McHugh — go read her blog!

I’m not breaking up with you, Insta — I geniunely want to be friends! But if we’re gonna do this, I’m hanging out with ya on my time. I trust that if my art gets shuffled low in feeds, my fledgling business will still thrive. I feel skeezy asking for someone to turn on post notifications for me.

I want to lead a quiet life. I want to work with my hands. I want to support my family and encourage and love others well. Make my corner of the earth beautiful and keep the faith in Jesus. I want my #soauthentic social media life to be as curious and playful and messy as I am #IRL.

I swoon over apps and tech startups, but juxtaposed between the two macs and Wacom tablet on my desk sit stacks of legal pad notes. Coffee-stained scraps of paper flock together in mini-piles of what I like to think are brilliant ideas and phrases. Ink puddles plot their moves toward a tattered Bible’s leather cover.

I’m not a fraud, Imposter Syndrome. Analog wins for me: I KNOW I’m not a fake, because for me, it’s been about art and words and paper and writing and ballet since before I could tie my Keds. It’s who my Maker who lit galaxies made me and restored me to be.

So yes, Insta. Let’s stay buddies. I just need some boundaries.

How do you deal with imposter syndrome in our social media-saturated world?