Hello, my name is Cheney, and I have a terrible case of imposter syndrome.
If you tell the truth, no one will believe you.
If you tell the truth, no one will want to read it.
If people read it, they will think it’s a waste of time.
If they read it, they’ll think you’re totally ridiculous and dumb.
Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.
But I want to, I want to, I want to, I want to. I want to.
I want to write how I really feel about parenting – and what I think of the way other people choose to parent – and all the Judgey McJudgerson moms out there (0f which I am certainly one).
I want to write how I really feel about current events and politics, even though I don’t have anything educational to add and my opinions aren’t always formed beyond a few internet articles and my own ingrained preconceptions.
I want to write about how I oppose the death penalty – something I feel passionate (and, actually, somewhat knowledgeable) about.
I want to write about the revolution that I’m sure is coming, and stand up for which side I’’m on.
I want to write about how ridiculous being a waitress is most of the time, and I want to form long, rambling ruminations on the impending zombie apocalypse.
I want to write about all the TV shows and horror movies I watch, and how too few books I read.
I want to write micro fiction and flash fiction and long fiction and serialized fiction and poetry and memoir and even the occasional list.
I want to be honest.
I want to be me.
Will they laugh at me?
What will they think of me?
Will they they think I’m fake?
Will they hurt and humiliate me?
Let the record show that this is where I am starting from. In a wide open, blank space full of new opportunities and dark corners and amazing possibilities and plenty of things that go bump in the night.
I’m joining the crowd of doing it anyway.
It’s just as exciting as it is terrifying.