Recently, in a writing critique group, I nervously shared my idea for a book I want to write. I prefaced this idea with “I am not a writer, but…” As soon as that sentence left my mouth, I knew it was the wrong thing to say around this group of people and I promptly heard the voices of dissent I had expected.
“Why are you saying that you’re not a writer?!”
I understood why I said it: I haven’t sat down to write anything beyond a journal entry in years. I feel like my skills are rusty, my grammar is often flawed, and I struggle to express my thoughts coherently. But this raises the question: What makes someone a writer? Who gives us the permission to claim that title? And how do we summon the confidence to say, “I am a writer,” without an apology or qualification?
When I proclaimed that I am not a writer, I also meant that I am afraid to call myself one. I fear being seen as an imposter or, even worse, being seen at all. Writing feels so revealing; it exposes our innermost thoughts and vulnerabilities. I hesitate to claim my place in this group, knowing that I haven’t dedicated as much time to honing my craft as my peers have. However, I believe that the only way to overcome this imposter syndrome is to put in the work—whether that means committing to writing regularly, seeking constructive feedback from a writing community, or by reading more.
Calling yourself a writer doesn’t require a degree, an audience, or a publishing contract. At its simplest, a writer is someone who turns to the page with intention. Someone who listens closely enough to their own thoughts to give them form.
In 2026, I will set the intention to observe, reflect, and articulate my thoughts unapologetically. I invite everyone reading this to grant yourself permission to acknowledge that your voice matters enough to be written down. Each of us has unique stories and perspectives shaped by faith, culture, and experience that deserve to be shared.
Let’s commit to saying “Bismillah” together and take our ideas out of the comfort of our notes folders and into the world where they can be seen and heard. The act of writing can be transformative, not just for ourselves but for others who may resonate with our words. This year, let’s call ourselves writers.
Written by Ricki Butler, Publishing Assistant at Daybreak Press