Go Anyway

... even when the imposter bought a ticket too

I help women plan their books. I pull their social media magic out of thin air. I dive deep into their hurts and their hopes and their hearts… and I help them find the words for things they’ve never said out loud before.

I am good at this.

And then the day comes when I have to show up as a writer myself… and I have forgotten how. More than two years have passed since Reflections of Joy entered the world, and I have to share that it’s become difficult to write for myself.

There is a conference on my calendar that begins tomorrow. It has been there for months. I registered with enthusiasm, a credit card, and the very best intentions. I told myself this was the year I begin again… this was the season. I was going to walk into a room full of authors and belong there.

That was then, but now the time has arrived, and I’m wondering if I can get the flu.

Not a bad flu. Just enough of one to justify staying home in my comfy clothes with my coffee and my excuses and the quiet comfort of helping everyone else be brave from a safe distance.

Because out there… in that room… I cannot hide behind my clients. I cannot be the coach, the strategist, the woman with the plan. Out there, I have to be the writer. And somewhere between helping everyone else find their voice, I seem to have misplaced the confidence in mine.

Can I push God’s call aside one more time?

I already know the answer.

I’ve sat across from women — virtually and in person — and watched them talk themselves out of the very thing they were made for. I have heard every version of “I’m not ready,” “Who am I to think,” and “Maybe next year.” I have gently, lovingly, firmly pushed them toward the door anyway, every single time.

And here I am… standing at my own door… looking for a reason not to open it.

The imposter doesn’t announce herself. She just quietly unpacks her bags and starts rearranging your confidence until you can’t find it anymore. She shows up right on schedule… right before the thing that matters most.

I think that’s how you know it matters.

So, I’m going to share what I’m telling myself this week, hoping it will help you, too.

I’m reminding myself that staying home has never once made me braver. The women who believed in me before I believed in myself did not do it because I had it all together… they did it because they saw something in me I couldn’t yet see in myself. And I’m going back to the prayer I always return to when confidence is gone, and the imposter is loud…

God, you called me here. You go first.

That’s it. There isn’t a five-step plan or a framework. There is just me with my shaky knees, a prayer, and the decision to open the door anyway.

So I’m going. There are comfy clothes in my suitcase just in case. I’ll have coffee in hand and my journal too. And somewhere in that room, there will be women I have only ever known through a screen… friends I have never hugged in person… and that is reason enough to open the door. Imposter is still riding shotgun because apparently, she bought a ticket too, but hopefully, she’ll make her own friends.

I’m going to walk into that room and be a writer… even if I have forgotten what that means.

Because the women I coach deserve a guide who leads the way.

And so does the woman I’m still becoming.

Are you registered for something you’re already trying to talk yourself out of? I’d love to know I’m not the only one. Share your story with me and…

Be happy 🧡