What's Changed, and What Hasn't (A Letter to Imposter Syndrome)

Writing On Set For Loki, season 2 | Michele Blood

I don’t think I logically thought that once you see your name in the credits on a Marvel show on Disney+ I’d stop needing dry shampoo, but I think I kind of thought that? The only explanation I have is that I wanted to be a screenwriter for so long that I started envisioning this version of myself that made it, and she had really cool hair that never really got gross. But I still need dry shampoo around day 2 of no wash.

It wasn’t just the hair, though.

This cool version of me was also a morning person. I have consistently asked my loving husband to set the coffee pot at 5am almost every day since June and have not successfully been there when it brews once. At this point, it’s almost a joke. 5am? He asks when he goes to prep the pot at night. I always say yes (and flip him off for his tone). I want to be a morning person. It’s what he calls an “aspirational goal”, which is psychologist speak for this is going to be lukewarm by the time you actually drink it.

The cool version of me could order coffee and not think twice about the expense (lol I think about it a lot. I still do it, even when I shouldn’t, but I do think about it). Her car was always clean, ready to whip over to the studio lot in a moment’s notice. (I drive a van, and every time I open the sliding door I instinctively reach down to stop shoes, waterbottles, backpacks, and old Happy Meal boxes from cascading out.) She always had her nails done, sported a carefully curated wardrobe, and had a set writing schedule that didn’t move. (A swing and a miss for all three! 0/0, failing grade!)  

And most of all, she didn’t feel imposter syndrome ever again.

Guess what I’m gonna say.

~

When my first novel came out in 2019, I knew that the chances of my life being radically different were small. I’d talked to enough successful authors to know what to expect. My debut earned a Kirkus Star, some critical acclaim, and a bunch of lovely fans. I remember looking down at my book and thinking… I did it. I’m a published author. I can write, for real.

It wasn’t long before I set out to write my second book, and something popped up: that voice that was like… what if that was a fluke?

What if people liked your first book because they didn’t see the massive plot holes?

What if they were just being nice?  

I wrote Unchosen through it, even though I was doubting myself with every decision. What if I turned it in and it sucked? What if the publisher rejected it? (That had happened, before.)

So many people want to write. Why do you think you’re special?

Unchosen came out in the middle of the pandemic. Jan 2021. No events, no tour. I was morning sick with Ben through all of my interviews, and I was just totally convinced that this was the book where I’d be found out. The one where I’d be discovered as a fraud.

Unchosen didn’t get a Kirkus Star. It didn’t get many accolades, really. I figured the jig was up.

They found Ben’s abnormality on his 20-week scan, and for a couple of weeks I wasn’t sure if my baby just had bilateral club feet or something much worse. Sometimes club feet were indicative of fatal chromosomal abnormalities. I wasn’t sure if my son was going to survive. That perspective shift really helped in the “fucks given” department.

I went to the appointment alone, since COVID didn’t allow Ross to join me. I met with the specialist who did the scan. We found out Ben just had funky little feet, nothing more. Healthy heart, healthy lungs. He’d need extensive help if he was ever going to walk, but he would survive. I could breathe again, and everything else suddenly felt easier.

I wrote a lot, and I got rejected a lot. My agent left my agency that summer, leaving me in limbo for a long while. I wrote sample chapters for my publisher, and it wasn’t what they were looking for. I tried with a different story, and that was rejected, as well.

I didn’t think I was done writing, per say. I just really, really hoped I was living in my “turn of the third act” slump. You have to have a total fail/dark night of the soul before you rise up like a phoenix, right? At any point the music would swell, and I would get another shot. One day, I was going to arrive, and it was all going to be better.

And then, that day came. I shot my shot with the head writer of Loki S2. I knew it was a longshot, but I had to try (shoutout to my people for telling me it was worth it to give it a shot. Shoutout to the post C-section Dilaudid for the nerve to draft the DM!). I got an interview. And then he called me to tell me I was going to come write for Marvel. Ross has a video of me out in front of our house, crouching in the street, happy crying.

I wrote for Marvel, and then I went to London, where I spent five months on set. All day, every day, I was there, living an absolute dream. The first day I walked onto the sound stage, I teared up. And I teared up consistently throughout those five months. I’ve been a Marvel fan since Iron Man. I saw Thor on my honeymoon and watched Ragnarok to distract myself from morning sickness with River. The only big fight I’ve EVER had with Ash was about Civil War. (She’s #TeamTony, I’m #TeamCap. It got heated.) Marvel shaped me, and there I was, sitting with the actors and being trusted to help shape their stories.

For five months, I did the job that lit me up. I know now I’m deeply in love with screenwriting and filmmaking — the whole process. I walked away from the whole experience with my first writing credit and friends I’ll have for life.

The last week was almost all night shoots, while I was packing up my rented house to fly home. I’d pack all day (who knew moving 4 kids across the ocean for 5 months would mean you have so much stuff? I should have. I really, really should have.) and then get picked up to go to set for the night shoot. And then…it was over. We went home. Two flights, four kids, 12+ hours. My parents picked us up and it was all a blur. I showered and hit my sheets harder than I ever have. And after the jet lag let me out of its’ vice grip, I knew I’d been changed, right?

No more second guessing myself. I wrote for Marvel, and I did pretty good job. I’d arrived. No more doubt.

I don’t know how long it was before I started wondering if I’d ever write something good again. I want to say it was months, but it was probably actually only about 2 weeks. What if you can’t do this? What if they were just being nice? What if that was the peak? What if you never get another job again? All the eggs in one basket…

I lived for the next job — the next call saying someone wanted my brain. And since coming home, I’ve gotten several of those calls. I’ve had more jobs that are still very secret. I had all the outward affirmation I could want.

Then, a few months ago, I was looking at my old photos, and I pulled up the grainy video Ross has of me getting that first call about Loki. The one where I crouch in the street and he films me from our deck. I’m laughing, he’s laughing. And I realized something.

I’ve always loved movies where that moment happens for other people. It’s always my favorite part: the part where the hard work pays off. When Will Smith gets the internship in Pursuit of Happiness. The moment in Joy where her mops actually sell out. The moment when Erin Brocovich gets the job, even though it’s a long-shot. I would scour the internet for blogs about people winning — Veronica Roth’s “How I Got My Book Deal” blog post was my favorite back in 2012. Those stories kept me afloat. I was so stoked to have another one, right there on my street.

But I’d already had that moment before Loki, hadn’t I? Twice! When I’d sold my books. But maybe we’re always looking for the next one, and maybe that should have been my first warning sign: it wasn’t something I was looking for outside of me.

I don’t think there will ever be a moment when I stop feeling like I “lucked” into this, or that I will never write something good ever again. Just like there isn’t going to be just one moment where I “make it”. That moment doesn’t exist.

We put so much pressure on those moments and others like it — the moment we fall in love, the moment we become a parent, the moment when we turn 16 and 21 and 30, the moment we graduate or get engaged or get that “real” job — that are supposed to make us feel something. I should have known better, because I have lived those milestones and realized they are just markers in time, not measurements for readiness or, more importantly, worthiness.

But there I was, realizing it again. Big moments will never get rid of self-doubt. No big win will ever erase Imposter Syndrome. And someone asked me in last week’s Insta “AMA” if I still felt Imposter Syndrome, and it got me thinking: yes, but I don’t think that matters, anymore.

I think I answered it like “of course”, but I wanted to say something better, something bigger:

Fuck Imposter Syndrome. It’s a waste of time. It was a waste of time when I was first starting out, and it’s a waste of time, now. I think we all feel like imposters at times, no matter what it is we’re doing. I’ve felt like an Imposter Wife, an Imposter Mom, an Imposter Friend, an Imposter Daughter. Imposter Christian, Imposter Aunt, Imposter Fangirl. I’ve worked myself to the bone to feel I’ve earned titles I’m living every day. So… I’m so done giving that bitch any of my time, and you should be, too.

In his book, Keep Going, Austin Kleon says that in order to be the Noun (Writer), you have to do the verb (Writing.) And I think that should be enough to expel any time we spend wondering if we’re real anything. I’m a mother because I wipe butts and give hugs when things get scary. I’m a wife because I’m Ross’s partner. I’m a Christian because I love Jesus. I’m a fangirl because I cry at YouTube edits. And I’m a motherfucking writer because — dry shampoo or not — I write.