Some days, I feel like I snuck in through the back door.
Like I’m sitting at a table I wasn’t exactly invited to, smiling politely, hoping nobody checks the guest list.
It’s not always loud, that feeling.
Sometimes it’s just a flicker. A glance at someone else’s work—cleaner, bolder, with more confidence in every line—and a slow nod to myself that says, ah, right, that’s what it’s supposed to look like.
People say nice things. Sometimes, even kind things. They share my words, quote a sentence like it meant something to them, and still, a part of me wonders if I’ve tricked everyone. Like I used the right tone, the right rhythm, just enough to pass.
But I didn’t grow up thinking I’d be seen. I wrote in notebooks I never meant to show anyone. I built quiet little worlds in the corner of my mind, tucked behind chores and emails and grocery lists. And then somehow, by some crooked magic, people started to look.
And when people look, you start looking at yourself differently.
And sometimes the answer is maybe.
Sometimes it’s not yet.
And sometimes it’s just hell if I know.
But here’s what I keep learning, over and over:
Most of us are making it up as we go.
Even the ones who seem sure. Especially them, actually.
We’re all just telling stories, hoping someone nods along.
Hoping something sticks.
So maybe I am an imposter.
But I’m the kind that shows up anyway.
The kind that keeps writing, even when the words feel shaky.
The kind that laughs at my own awkward metaphors and hits “post” with one eye closed.
Because if I’m faking it, at least I’m faking something honest.
And that’s gotta count for something.
(Also, I brought snacks. So even if I don’t belong here—I’m still useful.)
The CJBuzz 