The Role of Doubt in the Creative Process

“Doubt is a sign you’re doing something that matters.” — Me, spiralling at 2am (but also kind of right).

Let me be honest with you: I doubt myself all the time. Like, more than I probably should. I doubt my ideas, my voice, my plot choices, my sentence structure. I’ll write something, love it, and then reread it two hours later and cringe like I’ve just texted my ex.

But here’s the twist: I’ve learned that doubt isn’t always the villain. In fact, sometimes it’s the very thing that keeps us from writing utter nonsense. Sometimes, it’s a compass. Other times, it’s a gremlin. Either way, it has a role to play.

Let’s talk about it.

🤔 What Doubt Actually Means

We’re taught to see doubt as a bad thing — as the opposite of confidence. But I’d argue that doubt is a side effect of caring deeply. When you care about the story you’re telling, of course you’re going to second-guess how you’re telling it.

Doubt often creeps in when you’re about to level up — when you’re trying something new, tackling a harder idea, or putting more of yourself on the page. And yes, that feels vulnerable. But vulnerability is where the good stuff lives.

So if you’re doubting your work, that doesn’t mean it’s bad. It means you’re invested.

🔍 The Helpful Kind of Doubt

Believe it or not, some doubt is actually helpful. It keeps us editing. It forces us to reread. It pushes us to refine.

• Questioning your word choices? Great. That’s how your prose gets sharper.
• Worrying your plot feels thin? Perfect. That’s the nudge to add depth.
• Unsure if your character arc works? That’s how you develop more emotionally satisfying turns.

Helpful doubt is quiet. It’s the editor in your head saying, “Hmm, maybe try that again.” It’s not yelling; it’s guiding.

💣 The Destructive Kind of Doubt

Then there’s the gremlin.

This is the voice that tells you you’re talentless. That this book will never be as good as [insert author here]. That you’ll never finish. That no one cares.

This kind of doubt doesn’t want you to edit — it wants you to quit. And it lies.

When I’m stuck in this space, I try to step away. Not forever — just long enough to breathe. I read something I love. I write something just for fun. I talk to writer friends who’ve been there too. (Spoiler: They all have.)

The trick is learning to recognise when doubt has stopped being helpful and started being toxic. When that happens, you don’t need to push harder — you need to be gentler with yourself.

🧠 Doubt and Imposter Syndrome

Let’s go there.

If you’re anything like me, imposter syndrome is your co-writer. You could get glowing feedback and still think you’ve fooled everyone. You could hit publish and immediately spiral into regret.

But here’s what I’ve learned: Doubt is normal. Everyone feels it. The difference is whether or not you let it stop you.

Most of the writers you admire? They’ve doubted themselves too. Some of them still do. The only difference is — they keep writing anyway.

💡 Using Doubt as a Creative Tool

Instead of fighting doubt, what if we worked with it?

• Let it highlight what matters to you. Where do you feel the most anxious? That’s often where your heart is.
• Let it guide revisions, but not define your worth.
• Let it push you to ask deeper questions about your story.

Sometimes, I’ll even write a scene because I’m scared of it. Because it feels too raw or too strange. That fear is often a sign I’m touching something true.

Doubt isn’t weakness. It’s part of the process. It means you’re brave enough to care. To try. To make something out of nothing.

So the next time you stare at your draft and think, “This is garbage,” remember: You’re not alone. And you’re not wrong — you’re just not done.

Keep writing. Even with the doubt. Especially with the doubt. Because that’s how stories worth telling are born.