2016: Lexapro and Impostor Syndrome
It was in 2016 that I realized if I’m going to be a freelance writer, I need to be medicated. I didn’t know what work anxiety was until I started sending out pitches to editors — many of whom I’ve never met in real life — and compulsively checking my email until they responded. Sending out a cold pitch falls somewhere between applying to college and texting a guy you like. You’re putting yourself out there every g-damn day, and when it works out, it’s great, and when it doesn’t, it sucks. Such is the nature of this work, so I’m thankful that about two months into 2016, I began a daily routine of Lexapro and exercise. I don’t sweat when I send out pitch emails anymore, nor do I think that the editor will laugh in my face. And if they do, WHO CARES? I’ll take my story to my defunct Blogger. Or Medium.
Despite my interests in so-called frivolous subjects (clothes, Top 40 music, snack food), all I’ve ever wanted to be is a Serious Writer. I think I started to become that in 2016. I spent many weeks reading studies to write about Asian women and eating disorders for Cosmopolitan. I felt like an impostor writing it and kept having nightmares that I misconstrued the research. I did wake up at 4:30am to Skype interview a girl in Taiwan about her eating disorder, and I know the story meant something to her, so that’s what counts. I also wrote about QVC addicts for The Kernel. I infiltrated a private Facebook group for people addicted to home shopping and tried to interview a few women but they all accused me of identity theft. Instead, I showed their posts about buying 15 Keurigs in one sitting to an addiction psychologist. When the story went live, they cyberbullied me. I felt a little bad but also proud of myself. Sorry.
I wrote about some frivolous things, too. I put pee on my face for two weeks in pursuit of a clear complexion (I’m vain!). I didn’t get flawless skin but I did get diaper rash on my chin. I also had my first print piece (it was more of a blurb, but whatever) published in Edible. I wrote about the Japanese restaurant Okonomi, where I went for the first time the day after getting fired from a brief stint at BlackBook Magazine. Look how far I’ve come, suckers!
I’m still nowhere near the writer I’d like to be, but I’m on my way there. I have a lot of pitches brewing in my head and in my iPhone notes, and I know at least one is sitting unread in an editor’s inbox. That’s okay. Things will get published, but they take time.
