I am a Writer. I think.

You are reading this because I wanted to submit a short story, which required a link for the author’s social media page or website. At the time, I didn’t have any type of social media, professional or personal, and I preferred it that way. I’m on the spectrum. Social engagement is not something that comes naturally to me. I enjoy my privacy and a relatively solitary lifestyle.

The concept of social media fell short of my interest, especially in regard to my development as a writer. I rarely share my creative works in my personal life. In fact, many of my close friends and family members don’t even know I’m writing or that I’m enrolled in an MFA program. Sharing my personal life online, when I don’t even share it, well, personally, felt like what we in the autistic community would refer to as non-preferred.

But when I actually sat down to create this space, I found that my aversion to socializing online wasn’t actually my biggest obstacle. It was that I didn’t really believe I was a writer.

As a millennial, I, like many of my brethren in excessively layered tank tops, was taught that pursuing a career in the arts would lead directly to couch-surfing starvation. As a neurodivergent child, undiagnosed at the time, my pattern-seeking, statistics-loving brain assimilated this widespread, horribly reductive opinion into my psyche as fact. So, like a good little sheep, I went to college for something ‘viable’, which, if we’re being honest about the social climate of early-2000s America, was just a nicer way to say valuable.

Either way, I attribute the fact that I spent ten years in a data-driven field I wasn’t truly passionate about to these sorts of myopic viewpoints, as well as the insidious case of imposter syndrome I battle every morning I sit down at my desk to write.

I’m just beginning my journey as a writer. I have three novels in development and I’m now submitting 2-3 short stories to different publications each month, while simultaneously pursuing my degree. For all intents and purposes, I am a full-time writer. But I’m not yet published. Intellectually, I understand that being published isn’t what makes someone a writer. Publication is a milestone. Writing is the work that gets us there.

Unfortunately, my brain still craves the definiteness of my former professional field. If a decade in the sciences taught me anything, it’s that truth is uncovered through testable, replicable experiments with tangible outcomes. Creative writing doesn’t offer that kind of certainty. Good stories receive rejection letters. Incredibly talented, highly successful authors sometimes write for years before they finish their first manuscript. And being published doesn’t automatically make you a better writer.

I wish I could say that writing this article changed my perspective on social media, or at the very least eased the mild but constant insecurity I feel about my decision to start a new career in my thirties, but I won’t lie to you. The truth is, I’ll probably always find social media somewhat aversive, and making a website didn’t suddenly erase thirty plus years of social conditioning.

But I woke up today, I sat at my desk with a pumpkin cream cold brew from Starbucks, and I wrote. One day, my journey as a writer will lead me to become a published author. Maybe the imposter syndrome will fade before then, and maybe it won’t. Either way, I’m going to keep writing. Because I am a writer. I think.