You might think that given all the content I produce, both for myself and for my clients, that I’ve somehow graduated from the chaos of the creative process. That I’ve transcended the doubt and disarray. That I sit down to write and something clear, potent, and original filters through my fingertips like magic. But you would be wrong.

Inside me there are at least two voices—no doubt more, but let’s start there. One is loud, sharp, and extremely opinionated. She’d make a great lawyer—fast, ruthless, never unsure of herself. That’s my ego. The other is strange and ephemeral. It floats somewhere around my mind, occasionally landing right between my eyes like a nagging thought. It doesn’t tell me what to do. It just gestures quietly, like: That way. That’s the voice of my gifts.

If you’re the kind of person whose brain is constantly firing off new ideas, I get it. It’s exciting. It’s intoxicating. It’s also a nightmare when you actually need to do something with them. Instead of feeling inspired, you feel stuck. Pulled in a thousand directions. Unsure where to start. You want to move forward, but the sheer volume of ideas keeps you paralyzed.

Impostor syndrome whispers that your voice doesn’t matter, that you’re unworthy of visibility, that you are not the expert others believe you to be. But here’s the truth: You cannot be an impostor of your own life.

If you wait until things are perfect, you’ll be waiting the rest of your life. That feeling of readiness is never coming. The only way out is to start where you are. To start messy. To start now.

We’ve been sold a lie about the creative process—that it should be clean, predictable, and effortless. But the truth is much wilder, much messier than we could ever know. Creativity, like nature itself, is turbulent, untamable, and full of contradictions.