Am I a writer?

When I think about people who self-identify as writers, I very rose-tintedly envision cute little apartment desks and window light and coffee and a zoomed out version of someone trying to work on their book or whatever. I sometimes look like that image, sure, but I’ve seldom really thought of myself as a ‘writer’. The thought excites me though, because it makes me feel expansive. Like I have more things I can ‘do’.

It also doesn’t make sense that I have not identified as a writer because I have been writing since. for. ever. I’ve had a diary (by which I mean a whole ass pile of diaries) that I have written in more or less consistently since I was..12? That’s half my life, actually. I’m 24 at the moment. I’ve also had a blog since 2017 of which my most loyal readers have been my parents and maybe 2 other subscribers, one of whom came over to me from my dad’s blog. It’s been pretty insular.

The other place I share writing frequently sometimes is on Instagram, with long essay captions featuring floaty thoughts about ‘doing vs being’ and on yoga and on the power of my period and my confusions about sharing those thoughts online in the first place. I’ve been wondering why I am somehow so (relatively) comfortable sharing my most vulnerable and feelingly feelings with nearly 1500 people but the thought of having a personal email newsletter/blog that those who care will read is actually terrifying? It’s a similar thought to why I find it difficult to be my ‘true self’ etc with other real humans. Why then is it easier when it’s over a thousand of them?

The word vulnerability has been coming up a lot for me, perhaps in the world at large or perhaps just in my sphere of influence, or perhaps both at the same time. It never meant much to me before this time in which it has been coming up, just a word like any other that is on the brink of overuse on the internet, like empathy, or triggered, for example. Like when Brene Brown used it, I was like yeah, sure, I’m vulnerable all the time. I write long captions on social media. What’s the big deal.

Anyway I’ve been thinking that this whole vulnerability thing is really terrifying actually. Some of the thoughts and feelings that influence my whole way of being are among those that I would never want some of my friends to hear, let alone the rest of the world. Or in my case, perhaps that sentence should be the other way around. But I don’t want to live my life in ‘hiding’. I may share some things, sometimes, but I think I need to do it more. It makes me feel good, accomplished, free, bubbling with energy, expansive, to name a few. It might be scary, but I think the fear of something is often way worse, and far more debilitating, than the vague doomsday outcome I anticipate. What do I have to lose?

So to answer my initial question. Am I a writer for the simple reason that I write? Sure. Why not. Of course.