I Am Spiraling

The trauma of a difficult mother and life-long impostor syndrome.

“If God wanted you to be a full-time author, you’d already be one.”

That’s the line that my mother hit me with one summer night in 2023. I was caught in one of my paralyzing, deep in my feelings loops where I felt like no matter what I did, I was no closer to achieving my dream of full-time writership than I was when I uploaded my first manuscript to Amazon in 2020. I needed comfort. All she gave me was venom.

She apologized, but the damage was done. That line has stayed with me ever since, like an unwelcome yet imposing house guest. Sometimes I sneer at it and reply with a spiteful “just you fuckin’ wait,” as I dig deep into my work. Other times it’s shouting so loud at me it stops me mid-sentence or mid-thought, paralyzing me so I can’t do anything but spiral.

And I’m currently in the midst of one, now.

As Charles Darwin once said: “I am very poorly today & very stupid & hate everybody & everything. One lives only to make blunders.”

It started when I submitted my first screenplay, Every Last Drop, to a contest called the 2025 Bay List. It’s meant to highlight undiscovered writers in the Bay Area and give them a shot at meeting the right people who could help get their works produced.

A friend sent me the IG post, saying in all caps “APPLLLYYYY!!!!!” and so I did. I hustled. I wrote the outline and script in just over two weeks, all while doing everything else I do on a regular basis: Day job. Podcast. Book club. Workout routine. Eat. Sleep. Spending time with my girlfriend and friends. Be goofy on the internet. Go to therapy. Spend time with that same mom, the only parent I’ve got left.

I’m not saying any of this to gas myself up. I’m saying it because I’m a chronic overachiever and though I hope my hardwork will pay off, I can’t lie and say there isn’t a part of me that wonders whether that “If God wanted you to be a full-time author” line extends to being a full-time screenwriter, too.

Even as I write this, that voice in my head tells me “no one will read this,” “no one cares,” “they’re all gonna laugh at you,” and that last line I realize is so very Carrie’s mom coded.

Idle thought, but can we stop remaking Carrie already?

But I know the only way out of something like this is through. And I guess I hope… if you’re in the pits too, you may not feel quite so alone there now. We can crawl out, together, and get back to sneering and being strengthened by spite and confidence as we achieve, and we will achieve, our dreams.