I am a writer.

I often feel hesitant to allow myself to use this label. I’ll think, I shouldn’t call myself a “writer” because I haven’t written anything worthy of that title. But why? I wouldn’t think a person couldn’t claim to be an “artist” if they haven’t sold any work, don’t have anything hanging in a museum, haven’t received any accolades, have left some work unfinished, or their preferred medium is crayon. If they at least somewhat routinely put effort into artistic endeavors, they are an artist.

Writers are people who write. It’s not more complicated than that.

I enjoy writing, I express myself best in writing, I even take pride in some of the things I have written.

I am a writer.

Allowing myself to wear this label has been freeing. When I believe I’m not a writer I also start to believe that I can’t write. When I think I can’t write, I don’t. And it probably goes without saying, but for the sake of completing the circle — when I don’t write, I’m not a writer.

Sure, it would be nice if one day my words were published or recognized in some way, but if not, it doesn’t mean my writing isn’t worthwhile. At a bare minimum, writing provides an outlet for my personal expression, a means of organizing my thoughts, and something I can get excited about creating. I write on a blog because I hope that my words will resonate with or move even just one of the billions of people out here, but if my writing ends up only ever serving myself, that’s ok. That’s still enough.