One of the first things I did when stuff started falling into place with my writing career was talk about it with people like it was all this questionable accident. “Yeah, I wrote a book and it’s being published,” I’d say, like it was nothing—not like it was easy, but like it was literally nothing. It was amazing how quickly I was willing to let go of the hard work and sacrifices I’d made in hopes the thing I wanted to happen would. When it did, I did not want anyone to be uncomfortable or, God forbid, like me less for my accomplishments. Before I gave anyone a chance to be proud of me, to celebrate with me, I wanted them to know I was so sorry first.
Eventually a friend emailed me and told me I could work that angle less and when she did, I realized how truly scared I was of claiming my part in what I made happen for me. It’s so sad so many of the accomplished, hardworking women I know struggle with owning their success. How immediately they will tear themselves out of that part of the picture because it just doesn’t look as nice with them in it.
Anyway, what I’m trying to say here is: that’s enough of that. Let’s stop.
So many women I know do this. I’ve done it myself.