Imposter syndrome is that insidious little voice that slinks into your mind, whispering that you’re not good enough — that your wins are flukes, your talent is a mirage, and sooner or later, everyone will find out you’re a fraud.

It plants doubt in your creative garden, no matter how often you weed it out.

And if you’re an artist? Oh, it’s even worse.

Because we dare to believe someone might pay money — real money — for something as intangible and personal as our art. That’s brave. That’s wild. And that’s exactly the kind of audacity Imposter Syndrome lives for.

There’s a unique vulnerability in putting your art out there for public consumption. You expose your soul to criticism, judgment, rejection — and it doesn’t always bounce off. Sometimes it pierces. Sometimes it sticks.

But for those of us who’ve managed to wrangle the fear into something resembling submission — and somehow created a life built on creativity — Imposter Syndrome doesn’t just go away. No, it just gets sneakier. It sidles up beside you, smug and quiet, whispering doubts about your latest idea, your talent, even your worth.

My battle with that voice? Legendary. Dragon-slaying level stuff. And I can’t always say I’ve won. But here’s the truth: I don’t let it stop me.

At least, not anymore.

Lately, something shifted. I’m in my ‘Me’ era now — where I take bold swings, even if I’m told I don’t belong at the plate.

Which brings me to my secret project — something wildly different from my usual fare. A genre I’ve long adored but never dared to write. That old “you’re not good enough for this” voice nearly talked me out of it.

But I started anyway.

And I haven’t had this much fun writing in years.

Don’t get me wrong — I love all my creative babies. But after a hundred books, it becomes a business. The art part can sometimes get buried under deadlines, algorithms, and market trends.

This new project? It’s pure heart. Playful. Obsessive. Alive.

Will it sell? I have no idea.

Will readers love it? Fingers crossed.

Will it awaken a new creative chapter? Maybe.

What I do know is this: the journey is worth it. I’m hype focused, lit up, and dreaming in color again.

I’m not ready to share all the details just yet … but I’ll give you one clue.

London, 1888.

Let your imagination wander.

Kim Van Meter is a former full-time reporter for The Oakdale Leader, The Escalon Times and The Riverbank News; she continues to provide a monthly column. She can be reached at kvanmeter@oakdaleleader.com.