Writing has always been something that I loved to do. As a child I would create stories about whatever my imagination would come up with. As a teenager I wrote angsty poetry and prose that will never see the light of day. For classes, writing essays was never something I struggled with and I actually favored essays more so than traditional tests. I joined and ran the literary magazine in high school and every summer I did some sort of writing program. All this to say, writing is like breathing to me. I can’t go too long without it, it is essential for my survival.
To many, this would probably sound like enough to classify me as a writer. But the reality is, that’s not a title I’ve claimed until recently. I’ve always been passionate about writing and I knew my work was “good” per say, but I can’t recall many times in the past where I’ve personally referred to myself as a writer. Everyone else around me was calling me one, but I still felt as if I had yet to earn it. I had created all these benchmarks that I needed to qualify for in order to feel worthy of the title. Yet, every time I would achieve one I moved the bar once again. So, what changed?
For the first time this past year it felt as if I was writing with a real purpose. It felt as if I was writing for someone other than myself and for something beyond just me. Essentially, my audience changed. I’ve been fortunate enough to have family and close friends who have always supported my work. They’ve known my passion for writing for as long as I have and my parents have financially invested in it for a while. However, the praise I received from these people no longer had an effect on me. In the beginning it was nice, but eventually it felt routine and rarely did I ever get criticized. And as lousy as it is to say, it felt expected. I knew my parents weren’t going to tell my work wasn’t good, so I once again needed a new benchmark.
The year 2020 is probably one that none of us who lived through it will ever truly forget. It was filled with enough events for a history book of its own. The opinions I had this past year wouldn’t have changed because they were publicized, but being public meant that I wasn’t in control of who was reading them. So when I found my first article for Her Campus being shared by people who hadn’t known me my whole life, a switch flipped in my brain. It’s one thing to present a piece of work to a group you’ve known your entire life, it’s another for borderline strangers to appreciate your work.
My words were impacting the thoughts of others in ways I hadn’t experienced before.I learned that there were people learning new things from the topics I discussed. I started writing knowing that my work was causing dialogue amongst people where I wasn’t present. With that newfound information, I took extreme consideration into the words that I chose and the topics I was presenting in a way that previously writing didn’t require of me.
Yet, the most significant realization that occurred to me was that I just wanted to be heard beyond the echo chamber that I was in. Beyond the parents, family, friends, and teachers I longed to be heard by those who weren’t already in my corner. It was that benchmark that needed to be passed in order to reach this point.
If you’re wondering if I finally refer to myself as a writer now, the answer is yes. However, it is still not a solidified title in my head. This isn’t due to lack of faith in my abilities but motivation to continuously work at my craft. I know that regardless if you have an audience, if you believe yourself to be a writer you are one. Outside validation is truly irrelevant.
James Baldwin once said, “part of my responsibility — as a witness — was to move as largely and as freely as possible, to write the story, and to get it out.” As society continues to change and as I bear witness to the current issues surrounding us, as a writer this is my responsibility. It is one that requires the proper respect, time, and energy. It is one that requires me to tell the truth, because remaining neutral isn’t an option. I know that I won’t always get everything right and some pieces of writing won’t always be my best. I also acknowledge that now without the full security of my echo chamber, people are bound to disagree with me if they haven’t already. But it is a struggle and beautiful journey that in order to classify myself as a writer, I must be willing to embark on.