The Two of Swords—Take Off That Blindfold
Imposter syndrome is real, but it doesn't reflect reality.
“The Swords suit reminds us that our minds can be tricksters. Don’t fall into its traps.” —Holly West, The Eight of Swords: Let Go of Self-Limiting Beliefs
Deck: CROW TAROT by MJ Cullinane
It seems quite cheeky to quote oneself in a post, but there, I’ve done it. I’ve pulled Swords more than any other suit since I started this newsletter, which means…nothing, really. It’s pure coincidence. But our minds are such powerful things—and remember, the suit of Swords governs thoughts, reason, perception, and mental health, among other things relating to the mind. It’s not my favorite suit (that’s Cups), but considering how often I’m stuck in my own head, it’s tempting to believe the tarot is trying to tell me something.
The Two of Swords
When I pulled today’s card and read its meaning, the first thing I thought of was imposter syndrome. If you’re a writer or other creative, you probably know what I’m talking about—it’s the anxiety we experience regarding our work and the inability to internalize our successes, feeling like frauds and phonies despite solid evidence to the contrary.
Before I continue, let’s consider the card’s general meaning as interpreted by MJ Cullinane’s CROW TAROT. Referring to the blindfolded crow, Cullinane writes: “She calmly stays in place, unable to see the edges or where to safely hop to next. She is afraid of making a dangerous or painful mistake.”
All right, so imposter syndrome isn’t exactly this, but within it, there is a fear of failure and a deep-down feeling that, eventually, other people will see what we’ve “known” all along; that we don’t know what the hell we’re doing. Or worse, that others already see it, and we’re fooling ourselves, thinking we can make a go at whatever it is we want to achieve. It’s a sneaking suspicion that everybody else is better at this than we are.
That’s your trickster mind talking. The mind is a magnificent thing, but it’s also a practiced deceiver. Whether it’s a bug in our design or an evolutionary throwback, imposter syndrome is a fact of life and we need to find a way to work with it.
It’s also understandable. You become incredibly vulnerable when you’ve put your whole heart and soul into something. And when you’re vulnerable, finding a safe space to land is much more difficult—so many delicate parts of yourself are easily cut by those swords if you’re not careful. Better not to try at all and stay safe.
Let’s face it, the publishing and other creative industries are practically constructed of swords. Every part of the process challenges our resolve and failure—often through no fault of our own—is threatening us from every angle. It takes courage and unwavering belief in ourselves to set upon this path—a path loaded with all sorts of obstacles designed to knock us down.
This all sounds very dramatic but we’re talking about hopes and dreams here. Those are high stakes! Maybe not as high as the ones you’re ideally setting up for your protagonist, but still very important.
Cullinane continues: “The Two of Swords suggests you may find it difficult to make a significant decision because you feel you are unable to see the full picture or that there is valuable information being withheld.”
I think a big part of imposter syndrome is the not knowing. The metaphorical blindfold, if you will. Depending upon where you are in your publishing (or other) journey) you start to feel as though everyone has access to secret information you don’t have. I know I do. And though there is no doubt plenty of information you don’t know, you likely have the basics, which are enough to get you started.
Judging the quality of our own work is also a problem. Speaking about writers specifically, most of us read voraciously. We know what we like, and furthermore, we probably know what good writing is, at least when it’s someone else’s work. Why then, is it so difficult to gauge whether our own work is worthy?
I think it’s because good writing is, sadly, not enough to get you published. A good story is not enough, either. It’s frustrating to know you could have all the pieces in place on your end, only to find that multiple players will have to say “yes” before the promise of your manuscript can be fulfilled. Understanding that a “no” at any point in the process is likely not personal does little to ease the sting of rejection.
You start to worry the opposite is true, that you’ve traded in your blindfold for a pair of rose-tinted glasses. What if your work isn’t actually ready for the show, and you can’t see that? That’s always the fear, isn’t it? With every rejection, there is a sneaking suspicion that the “gatekeeper” is right. You’re not ready.
And maybe you aren’t. It’s so hard to know, which is my whole damned point.
I’ve laid out so many reasons why imposter syndrome is normal and natural. So what do we do about it? Here’s what I suggest:
Often, imposter syndrome attacks us in the form of intrusive thoughts. You’re chugging along on your manuscript when out of nowhere, you’re flooded with negative thoughts about your work. If you’re not careful, those thoughts will multiply and grow until you lose your belief in yourself and your work.
My therapist recently suggested using a metaphorical feather to brush these thoughts away, but not before taking a moment to acknowledge them. “Hello, imposter syndrome, I see you’re visiting today. I understand why you’re here but I don’t have time for you today.” Then, take that feather (a crow’s feather?) and wave it away.
It sounds simple and a little silly, but it works for me—not only for imposter syndrome but for all the intrusive thoughts that bombard me throughout the day. Sometimes, I have to do it repeatedly, but usually, I can eventually move on because I never let the thoughts take hold.
It’s also important that you find a way to accept your lack of control over what happens after you’ve written the best book you can. It’s hard, I know! It’s so cliche to say that the work itself is the important thing; take joy in that rather than worrying about what happens next. The problem is it’s hard to write a book even when you love writing, and dreaming you’re going to be the next Stephen King (or, in my case, the next Jess Lourey) is part of what sustains you as you put the hours in. You can’t just give up that dream because the book is finished, and you’ve sent it on its precarious way. But you do have to find a balance between dreams and reality so that you can persevere despite the challenges of publishing. Because there will be challenges, lots of them.
Reading this post over, I’m not sure how helpful it is. So much of it is stuff you probably already know. Maybe it’s really just me saying, “Hey, you! Are you suffering from imposter syndrome? I see you.”
Or maybe it’s my own imposter syndrome talking, telling me I’m not good enough, that I don’t have anything to say worth reading. Here’s me with my metaphorical feather, waving it away.
Have a great weekend, everyone.
Holly xx