Why Writing in Public Feels Like You’re Faking It (And Why You Should Do It Anyway)

I published an article yesterday about building a writing habit.

I wrote it like I have this all figured out, like I'm some authority on consistency, showing up, and doing the work.

The truth? I'm on day 48. I've been doing this writing routine for less than two months, and it's been over eighteen months since I've held a streak worth mentioning. I'm not an expert; I'm not a university lecturer in writing, nor do I have 40 years in the industry (I'm not even 40 yet!). 

If I were being dismissive of my decade of writing, I'm barely qualified to have an opinion.

But I wrote the article anyway. I published it. People read it. Some of them thanked me for it.

And the whole time, I felt like a fraud.

This is what writing in public feels like: you're sharing insights you barely understand, positioning yourself as someone who knows things when you're still figuring it out and putting advice into the world before you've fully tested it yourself.

It feels like lying, like pretending to be further along than you are, as if you're playing dress-up in someone else's credentials.

But here's what I'm learning: that feeling is exactly why you should do it.

The Imposter Syndrome Voice Never Shuts Up

I hear the voice every single time I publish something:

"Who are you to write about this? You failed at your first book. You have a degree, but it's not specifically about writing. You don't have a teaching qualification. You're not capable of giving advice."

The voice is right about the facts. I did fail. I don't have an education degree.

But the voice is wrong about what that means.

I'm not writing as an expert who's arrived. I'm writing as someone a few steps ahead on the same path my readers are on. I've also been writing for over ten years, which is nothing to be sneezed at. 

The problem is, it still feels like I'm pretending to be something I'm not.

Every article I publish feels like I'm standing up in front of people and saying "I know things!" when I'm still Googling basic questions about self-publishing at midnight, two years after I first published.

Why It Feels Like Lying

When you write in public, you're packaging your experience into declarative statements.

"Here's what works." 

"This is what I learned." 

"You should try this."

These statements sound authoritative. They sound like they come from someone who has it figured out.

But when you're writing them, you know the truth: you're making educated guesses. You're extrapolating from limited experience and sharing patterns you've noticed without enough data to be certain they're universal.

You're writing with confidence you don't fully feel.

That's what makes it feel like lying. You're presenting yourself as more certain, more experienced and always more credible than you actually are.

I write articles about writing habits when I'm still building and perfecting mine. I write about book marketing when my book sold zero copies. I write about what successful authors do when I'm not "successful" yet.

Every article feels like I'm cosplaying as a writer who has their shit together.

The Gap Between What You Say And What You Know

Here's the uncomfortable truth: when you write publicly, there's always a gap between your public persona and your private reality.

Publicly, I write like someone who understands the writing business. I give advice, I make recommendations, and I sound like I know what I'm talking about.

Privately, I'm still figuring everything out, learning and constantly doubting myself. That gap is where the imposter syndrome lives.

The voice says: "You're a fake. You're pretending. People think you're an expert, but you're not. Eventually, they'll find out and turn on you."

And here's the thing: the voice isn't completely wrong. There IS a gap. You ARE presenting a more polished and confident version of yourself than the messy reality.

But that doesn't make you a fraud. It makes you a writer.

Every Writer Is Writing Beyond Their Expertise

I used to think successful writers had eliminated this gap. That they'd reached a point where they genuinely were the expert they appeared to be.

Then I started reading interviews with established authors. Bestselling writers. People with decades of experience.

They all talk about imposter syndrome. About feeling like frauds. About publishing work and thinking, "I have no idea if this is actually good."

The gap never closes. You're always writing slightly beyond what you're absolutely certain of.

Because if you only wrote about things you'd completely mastered, you'd never write anything. By the time you "master" something, you're bored with it and have moved on to the next challenge.

Writers write at the edge of their understanding because that's where the interesting stuff is.

It just means you always feel a little bit like you're faking it.

The Difference Between Lying and Learning in Public

Here's what I had to accept: writing in public isn't lying. It's learning in public.

Lying would be:

• Claiming credentials I don't have
• Inventing success that I haven't achieved
• Presenting theory as proven fact
• Hiding my failures and only showing wins

Learning in public is:

• Sharing what I'm discovering as I discover it
• Being honest about where I am in the journey
• Documenting my process, including the failures
• Offering insights while admitting I'm still figuring it out

The difference is transparency.

I'm not lying when I write about building a writing habit. I'm documenting what I'm learning while I build mine, whilst also claiming that it's what I've discovered from experience over anything else. 

I'm not lying when I write about book marketing. I'm analysing what went wrong with my failed book and researching what successful authors do differently.

I'm not pretending to be further along than I am. I'm just sharing what I'm learning from where I actually am.

That's not fraud. That's just how you grow in public.

Why the Feeling Is Actually Useful

As a positive, the feeling of "I'm not qualified to write this" serves a purpose.

In my experience, it keeps you honest. It makes you fact-check yourself and ultimately prevents you from getting arrogant and making claims you can't back up.

When I write something, that imposter syndrome voice forces me to ask:

• Is this actually true or just something I think might be true?
• Do I have evidence for this, or am I guessing?
• Am I being clear that this is my experience, not universal law?
• Have I been honest about my limitations?

Without that voice, I'd probably write with false confidence and give terrible advice.

The discomfort is a feature, not a bug. It keeps you grounded.

The mistake is listening to the voice when it says, "Don't publish this." The voice should make you more careful, but ultimately not silent or avoidant of doing what you set out to achieve. 

What I Do When the Feeling Hits

Every time I'm about to publish something, the voice shows up.

"This is trash. You don't know what you're talking about. People will see through this. Don't hit publish."

Here's what I do:

I acknowledge the feeling. "Yes, I feel like a fraud right now. Noted." Sometimes I write it down, just to empty it from my mind. 

I check if I'm actually lying. Am I making up credentials? Inventing success? Presenting guesses as facts? If yes, I revise. If not, I continue.

I add caveats where needed. "This is what worked for me." "I'm still testing this." "I could be wrong about this." Honesty diffuses the feeling of fraud and mitigates it, anyway.

I publish anyway. The feeling doesn't go away, so I don't wait for it to. I just publish while feeling it.

The People Who Benefit Don't Care That You're Not An Expert

Here's what I've noticed: the people who get value from my writing don't care that I'm not a proven expert, in the conventional sense. 

They're not looking for someone who's already succeeded wildly. They're looking for someone who's one step ahead of them, sharing what they're learning and providing the clarity they're desperately seeking.

I get messages from people saying "this really helped me" or "I needed to hear this today."

They're not asking for my credentials. They're not demanding proof that I've made six figures from writing or sold thousands of books.

They just want honest insights from someone who's in the trenches with them.

The feeling of fraud comes from comparing myself to people at the top. But I'm not writing for people at the top. I'm writing for people where I was six months ago.

And for them, I AM a few steps ahead. That's enough.

Writing in Public Forces You to Get Better

Here's the paradox: the reason I feel like a fraud is the same reason I'm getting better.

When you write in public, you have to organise your thoughts clearly. You have to back up your claims and be coherent and useful.

This forces you to actually understand what you're talking about. You can't just vaguely "sort of" know something. You have to know it well enough to explain it.

Because when you write in public, you're accountable. You can't be sloppy. You have to actually know your stuff (or be honest about where your knowledge ends).

The feeling of fraud is the gap between where you are and where you're pushing yourself to be.

That gap is called growth.

You're Not Faking It - You're Building It

The voice says: "You're a fake."

The truth is: you're becoming.

You're not pretending to be a writer. You're actively writing. You're not faking expertise. You're building it in public. You're not lying about your knowledge. You're learning by teaching.

Every article you publish is proof that you're doing the work. Not proof that you've already done it, but proof that you're in the middle of doing it right now.

That's not fraud, either. That's just how careers are built.

Nobody starts as an expert. Everyone starts as someone who decided to write before they felt ready, and the ones who succeed are the ones who publish anyway.

Why You Should Do It Anyway

Writing in public will always feel uncomfortable. You'll always feel a bit like you're pretending, and, honestly, the imposter syndrome never fully goes away.

But here's what happens when you do it anyway:

You build your audience while you're building your skills. You learn faster because you're forced to clarify your thinking. You create a body of work that compounds over time. You help people who are one step behind you on the same path. You build proof that you show up and do the work.

And eventually - not immediately, but eventually - you look back at your early work and realise you actually DO know more now than you did then.

The gap doesn't disappear, but it shifts. You're still writing at the edge of your understanding, but that edge has moved forward.

You weren't faking it. You were building it.

The Real Fraud Would Be Staying Silent

The voice says: "Don't write this. You're not qualified. You'll look stupid."

But here's what I'm realising: staying silent until you feel "ready" is the real fraud.

Because you're pretending that one day you'll wake up feeling like an expert. That one day, the imposter syndrome will disappear, and you'll finally feel qualified to share what you know.

That day never comes.

The only difference between me now and me in five years (if I keep doing this) is that future me will have published through five years of imposter syndrome instead of waiting for it to go away.

The fraud is pretending you'll eventually feel ready. The honesty is admitting you never will and publishing anyway.

Just Publish The Thing

I still feel like a fraud when I hit publish.

Every article feels like I'm overstating my expertise, overselling my knowledge and pretending to be further along than I am.

But I publish anyway.

Because the alternative is waiting until I feel qualified, and if that were the case, I know I'll be waiting forever.

You will too.

So write the thing. Feel like a fraud while you do it. Publish it anyway.

But I can tell you the feeling doesn't go away; you just get better at working through it.

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I write about the emotional and practical reality of being a writer - drafting, doubt, discipline, and publishing while still figuring it out.

Mostly for people who write because they have to, need to, want to | https://linktr.ee/ellenfranceswrites