On Being a Writer (and Being Afraid)

I am writing this because I have to. Because I am a writer, and that’s what writers do. Because I am not really a writer at all, I haven’t written, not properly, in a long time, months. So, I feel I would be a fraud to call myself a writer, to put myself on the same grade as Virginia Woolf; me and her are not the same. I do not know my grammar. I read – sometimes – but I don’t really write. I am afraid of writing.

I am writing this because I have been afraid, and I hope this will help. I am afraid that I am not a writer (what I hope to be, what I say I am, and what I pretend to be). I am afraid that I will write and hate it, that I will realise my own inadequacy and wish I never tried, long for the taste of big dreams and naivety again. I am afraid that I won’t know what to write. That I won’t have anything to say.

I am writing this because I have lots of things to say, but I can’t remember them. As I write they turn to dust and I swear I had something profound to say, what was it?

I am afraid that someone will read this, you, reader, will read this and hate it. You will tell me that I am bad, and there I am, 6 years old again, sat in a classroom scared to try in case I didn’t win (not realising that school, tests, were not a competition, realising, perhaps, but turning it in to one anyway).

I am writing this because I am still that 6-year-old, afraid to try, afraid to fail, but knowing deep down that I have to try anyway. Because if I don’t, the silence will grow louder, and the empty page will become a mirror reflecting all my doubts back at me.

I am writing this because writing is the only way I know how to make sense of the world. Writing is how I breathe, how I live, how I dream, and yet I’ve spent so much time holding my breath, waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect sentence, the perfect me. But perfection doesn’t exist, and the waiting has only made the fear grow stronger.

I am writing this because I need to remember that writing isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being honest. It’s about capturing the messy, complicated, beautiful chaos of being human and putting it into words. It’s about connecting with you, reader, and hoping that somewhere in these words you might see yourself too. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we are all afraid, and sometimes the only thing we can do is admit it.

I am writing this because I am tired of being afraid. I am tired of letting fear dictate my choices. I am tired of waiting for permission to call myself a writer, as if there’s some magical moment when I’ll finally be worthy of the title. The truth is, I am a writer because I write. Because I am writing this. Because even though it scares me, I am doing it anyway.

So here I am, writing. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s hard. Not because I have all the answers, but because I have questions. Not because I am fearless, but because I am afraid. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s what it means to be a writer—to sit with the fear, to wrestle with it, to write through it, and to keep going, word by word, sentence by sentence, until the fear begins to fade.

I am writing this because I have to. Because I am a writer. And so are you.