Why we need you to create

You’re no imposter—you’re essential

Even as I write this, there’s a voice in my head whispering: This isn’t good enough,’ ‘Someone else has said this better,’ ‘You’re rambling.’

How many times have you stopped yourself from creating something because you thought, ‘Someone else has already done this better?’

If you’ve ever felt like an imposter, a fraud, or that your work doesn’t matter, you’re not alone. It’s a paralyzing feeling of inadequacy, keeping your unique ideas locked away and leaving you unfulfilled.

The truth is, your voice and perspective are uniquely yours. And that’s exactly why the world needs what only you can offer.

Everyone has to create. Because everyone’s voice is needed.

And the idea of being an imposter? It’s not just untrue—it’s impossible.

The trap of comparison

We all have creative heroes.

I deeply admire Ted Chiang’s mind-blowing science fiction worlds, the powerful visual storytelling of The Bear (S02E07 ‘Forks’ anyone?), and Norm Macdonald’s masterfully comedic misdirection and deadpan delivery.

It’s very easy for me to be captivated by their brilliance and it’s even easier to let it overshadow my own creative potential.

Now, I’m not looking to write sci-fi, make movies, or craft jokes anytime soon, but that doesn’t stop me from falling into the comparison trap. I’ve even caught myself thinking: ‘What the hell am I doing with my life?’, after watching or reading something masterfully crafted.

I didn’t start writing until I was 40 and it wasn’t because of a lack of time. The truth is I didn’t really feel that I had anything to add.

I had spent decades holding back my ideas, thinking that I had nothing unique to say and that ‘others had already written this better.’

But here’s what I didn’t understand back then: a creative imposter doesn’t actually exist. It can’t. There’s room for everyone—and we’re all needed.

We all need something slightly different

Have you ever had an ‘Oh, that’s what that’s about’ moment?

You’ve heard or read something a hundred times, but it never quite clicked—until someone explained it in a way that suddenly made perfect sense to you.

For years, I wanted to start a mindfulness practice. I’d read about the benefits and seen the science, but nothing stuck because no one spoke my language. Then, I discovered some of the more grounded, secular, no-nonsense voices in the space (like Dan Harris, Sam Harris, and Andy Puddicombe), and suddenly, I had my entry point.

Sure, my practice has shifted over the years—meditation became breathwork, things got added, subtracted, paused—but that first connection was key.

A hundred people can be talking about meditation, but all hundred will explain it differently. And I only heard it when it was said in that one specific way. 

This is why you need to create: you’re a translator. Someone out there needs to hear the world in the way only you can say it.

Why you can never be an imposter

Here’s why being an imposter is impossible: no one else can be you. You’re one of a kind.

And I don’t mean this as some kind of platitude. Every story you tell, every idea you share is filtered through your unique lens, shaped by your experiences.

This makes your contributions irreplaceable and makes it impossible to be an imposter—even if you tried.

When you create something, anything, you become a translator for someone who needs to hear or see the world the way only you can express it.

The world needs countless translators because no single way of communicating, teaching, or creating resonates with everyone.

Your voice fills a gap that only you can fill.

You are needed

You need to start creating more irreverently because what you have to offer is necessary, simply because no one else can offer what you can.

For years, I believed in imposter syndrome, fueled by comparisons to basically anyone else doing something creative. I thought it was just the price you paid for trying to be creative.

But the more I thought about it, the less it made sense.

The very concept of imposter syndrome reinforces a lie—that your work doesn’t matter because it doesn’t measure up to someone else’s. But the comparison is the problem here, not your work, because no one else can do what you can.

Realizing this doesn’t mean writing essays is a breeze for me now. It’s still one of the hardest things I do.

But at least I no longer carry the self-imposed belief that my work isn’t worthwhile. That weight is gone.

These days, I feel free to create because I know someone, somewhere needs exactly my translation (and not someone else’s). Not because it’s as good or better than anybody else’s, but because it’s uniquely mine (and theirs).

Your uniqueness is why you’re needed, and it’s also why you could never be an imposter in the first place.

And whether this essay is in your language or you need another translator, both prove my point.