Who do you think you are?

“Liar!” my inner-critic shouts. “How dare you think you are qualified to be called a writer or artist.” Turning the music up all the way to eleven does little to drown the voice of negativity that keeps me from shining my light.

A recent Facebook post stated that I was staring/grinning at a nametag given to me to wear at a fundraiser. The tag said, “Gail Gates, Artist.” Simple, right? But I struggled wearing it because I felt it was a message/label of deception.

Why? I have no idea. The woman organizing the show didn’t look at me with scrutiny or disbelief. She handed me the tag like it belonged on me. The other artists didn’t point and laugh when they saw me or my scarves, greeting cards, and photography. No shopper wrinkled his or her nose and demanded I leave the area meant for REAL artists. So what keeps me so afraid of saying boldly and proudly,
“I am an artist. I am a writer.”

Perhaps it’s the same old blah, blah, blah childhood memories. All those times where I didn’t measure up in my parent’s eyes or expectations. In a previous post I recollected a moment when I proudly showed my father a drawing displayed in my third grade classroom. My teacher, Mrs. Becker, had not only given me an “A” for my artistry, she had placed a fat, shiny, gold star on it as well. I knew my dad would be popping buttons and telling everyone within earshot, “Look at this! My daughter is an artistic genius. And she’s only in third grade!” But alas, he gazed on it for a few moments and said, “I sure wouldn’t have given you an “A” for that.” Cue the sound of taps as young girl’s soul withers.

Or perhaps it’s because real artists and writers get promoted on social media, television, and YouTube. They do talk show circuits and somehow magically pump out book after book, year after year. Or, as I saw on a PBS special, do funky things like plant mushrooms on chair cushions and get heralded as cutting edge. Me? After years of trying I still haven’t cracked admission to the Minnesota State Fair Fine Art Competition. So how can I call myself an artist? All I know is the creative drive is in control. I may not think of myself as an artist or writer, but I’m creating and feel joyous in the process.

How about you? Do you ever feel like you’re known for something, and yet deep down you feel like you’re a fraud? Why? Let’s talk about it!