Tag: imposter syndrome

Staying authentic while telling my story

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I am delighted to welcome Rachel Yarworth to my blog as part of her blog tour for her recently released book Friend of God: The Miraculous Life of an Ordinary Person. Here she focuses on how she felt the need to keep her writing authentic, despite the (very good) advice from others.

Not feeling good enough

When I started writing my book, I felt like a total imposter. Successful authors are eloquent and skilled at their craft (I have my moments in blogging), but surely becoming published would require functioning at an even higher level: one where you are accepted, endorsed and promoted by people who know what good writing is. I felt sure I was not good enough. But I bolstered myself with the kind words of fellow writers who reassured me that the one thing most successful authors have in common is Imposter Syndrome. And I kept writing.

Advised to make changes

When I finally plucked up courage to send my manuscript to beta-readers and potential editors I was given a lot of encouragement about my writing generally, but also told that if I wanted a publishing deal, or even just to sell lots of copies, I would need to change my book: to focus on the more sensational parts of my story; to narrow my target audience down; to ‘show not tell’. All very good advice.

I tried to satisfy each of these demands – I really, really tried. But the problem was, each time I tried, I felt I was betraying my own story and somehow becoming inauthentic. It was important to me that my book was not purely sensational. Yes, there are some amazing miracles in it, but I didn’t want it to be just about those – I wanted to show how God has been just as good a friend in the mundane, everyday messes of life.

I didn’t want a narrow audience either: I felt compelled to make it as accessible as I could, to as wide a range of people as possible. I was a bit more successful at improving the ‘show not tell’ aspect, with the help of a writing coach – but still, I was very aware of not excluding those in the neurodivergent community I love, who can struggle when things aren’t clearly told. So while a small voice inside kept whispering not to give up, I pursued my book with a horrible feeling of ‘getting it all wrong’ constantly hanging over me.

Telling my story

My breakthrough came one day when I was praying about it, feeling miserable that I couldn’t make myself write as the professionals told me I should, and that my chances of my book being accepted for publication were next to nothing. How could I obey the call I had felt to write? Was I letting God down? As I prayed, I felt God speak gently into my heart to offer me a loving choice: did I really want to conform to the world’s ‘should’s of polished perfection? Or did I want to be authentic, simply telling my story to the best of my ability and leaving the rest to Him? I smiled, and peace was restored to my heart. The pro-writer dream is an appealing fancy, but deep down in my heart I don’t care if I never become a ‘successful author’” in the world’s eyes – I just want to do what God asked of me, to get my story out there, for Him.

So I’m OK if my book is not a masterpiece. I don’t think I would ever have published it if I had continued with that pressure on myself. But since it was published, I have received feedback from readers saying how relatable, inspiring and encouraging my story is, and several customers have bought multiple copies so they can give them as gifts to people who wouldn’t normally read Christian books. In short, the things I did ‘wrong’ have become the things that people appreciate! 

We all have authentic stories

And that’s the point. God’s kind, wise words weren’t just about my book, and they weren’t just for me. We may not all be writers but we all have stories to share. And as Christians we don’t have to be somehow better than we are before sharing them – God likes working through our flawed humanity. We don’t have to portray a more polished version of ourselves to be accepted by the world. It turns out, most people can’t relate to that kind of inauthenticity. We just need to be what the world needs: imperfect but truthful witnesses of what we have seen Him do and who we have experienced Him to be. We don’t need to be polished or clever – just honest. Authentic.

Note from Claire: I have a whole series of guest posts from others sharing their authentic stories. Click here to read them.

Rachel lives in Worcestershire with her husband Mike, their three miracle sons and their miniature labradoodle. When not writing, Rachel can usually be found home educating her younger two boys, leading a home church or going for long walks in the countryside.

Her first book, Friend of God: The Miraculous Life of an Ordinary Person, was published December 2022. It is available on Amazon, and can also be ordered in good bookshops. For more from Rachel, you can go to her website or follow her writer pages:
Facebook: Rachel Yarworth, Writer
Instagram: rachelyarworthwriter
Goodreads: Rachel Yarworth

“Ouch, that hurts!”

After a break for half term, and then enforced rest due to flu, I am finally getting back to posting the usual Friday blog – Unmasked: stories of authenticity. I am delighted to welcome Annmarie Miles onto it this week. (NB Do please get in touch if you have your own story that you would like to share – the entries are slowing down so this blog series may become monthly from now on…)

I remember clearly the moment I first read that Richard Branson quote:

“If somebody offers you an amazing opportunity but you are not sure you can do it, say yes – then learn how to do it later!”

It was around the time that I started writing, and I was looking for permission to go for it. Why I looked to Mr Branson, I’m not sure. But I read those words and I went for it. I was asked to speak at seminars, teach classes, lead groups, write for writing websites, you name it – I did it. I asked questions, got advice, learned as much as I could from as many as I could and took every opportunity that came my way. A lot of the time I was in panic mode, but I did as he said, learning as I went.

FAKING IT

I never stopped feeling like an imposter though. Richard Branson’s quote, though empowering, turned out, for me, to be little more than, ‘fake it til you make it’. Problem is, I never made it. I always felt I was revving in the neutral of pretend mode. I moved from Ireland to the UK, losing all tangible contacts and opportunities (online connections are great, but it was not the same). I never really got going again. Surely if I’d made it, I’d have been snapped up, discovered, heard of even…?

On reflection (of which there has been much), I am soothed by God’s process of taking those who make themselves ‘available’ and making them ‘able’. From day one I applied the verse in Psalm 127 to my writing – unless the Lord builds the house… So when opportunities dried up I accepted it, but made the error of believing that I had dried up.

CONFESSING MY SECRET FEAR

At the Association of Christian Writers’ day in London last year, I confessed it out loud; the secret fear. What if I’m just no good at writing? What if my fears are grounded, and I just don’t cut the mustard!? I was grateful for the encouragement and the gentle slap on the wrist I got in response. In short it was basically: if you believe God has given you something to say, then go say it. When Moses complained to God in Exodus 3 that he was no good with words, God said, ‘Now go! I will be with you as you speak, and I will instruct you in what to say.’

I left the event with those words ringing in my ear and, in response to that, I spent November working on the first draft of the most painful thing I’ve ever written. An exploration of the how and why I ended up weighing nearly 24 stone. I believe it’s something God wanted me to explore in my writing, but there were no lies allowed. No little deceptions, no excuses, no plaumausing (as we say in Ireland). It had to be honest, or what would be the point.

TAKING THE RISK

So I wrote it. With many tears I raked though painful memories and regrets, I fought the urge to wallpaper over the ugly stuff and just poured it all out. By the end of it I felt like I’d been skinned. I was raw, embarrassed, ashamed, afraid and relieved. It reminded me of reading about Eustace in C.S. Lewis’ The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, when he had been turned into a dragon, and only Aslan could remove the tough dragon skin. Eustace describes how the pain of removal was worse than any pain he had ever felt, but that the relief and freedom from the dragon skin made it bearable. I could relate to that.

The truth is, authenticity is a huge risk. The scaly skin might be ugly and uncomfortable but taking it off hurts, a lot. And when it’s gone, all that’s left is…well…me. I’ll be honest, I’m still not sure I’m ready for that. The manuscript however will soon be in the hands of an editor. No more cover ups.

My consolation, my soothing balm, is that it is honest. It’s as real as I am. If it helps one person, it will have done its work.

I dare to wonder what it will achieve and where it might take me.

I may not make it – but I sure as heaven didn’t fake it.

Annmarie Miles is from Dublin, Ireland. She lives with her husband Richard who is a pastor in the Eastern Valley of Gwent, in South Wales. She writes short stories, magazine articles, devotional pieces for Christian radio, and blogs about her faith at www.auntyamo.com