I had a pretty incredible day today: the weather was exquisite—sunny and cloudless with that hint of crisp coolness—so a writer buddy and I put on our intrepid wanderer shoes and ventured out from our normal haunts to go hiking some nature trails up a mountain. Afterwards, we planned on holing up in some little cafe and working: exercise, nature, sunlight, camaraderie, writing, delicious food? Sounded like the perfect day.

We wound up in a little town full of cute crafty shops, a delightfully whimsical one in particular. After much perusing and spending money I don’t have (no regrets), I got to talking with the shop owner, who asked what I do. With no hesitation, I answered, “I’m a writer.”

I didn’t think anything of it at the time, and, in fact, I didn’t really register what I said (or, rather, the *way* I said it). My friend later pointed out to me that that moment stuck with her. She’s a teacher by trade and hasn’t yet achieved a consistent writing habit herself; it’s still largely a hobby for her, and she would never think to introduce herself as a writer. However, with me, she sees the change that I’ve undergone these past few months: writing every day, having this be my job, my priority. I’m doing it. I’ve turned pro.

I used to say those words differently. Instead of, “I’m a writer,” I would say, “I write,” or “I’m a freelance editor,” or “Until recently, I edited at the United Nations, but I’m currently working full-time on my novel.” I qualified it. I referenced what I did before because of the perceptions of what “writing my novel” carries with it (people who don’t learn the craft, who are trying to “get rich quick” and are not serious about a career, people who are lost in fantasies and pipe dreams about what writing entails and the successes it typically holds). I wasn’t yet confident enough in myself or what I was trying to do to not care what other people thought. I was envious of writers who were also stay-at-home parents, because that sounded like a better “excuse” to not having a “real” (and paying) job.

I’m not entirely sure what’s changed, other than just maintaining a steady writing process lately. I’ve had a LOT of obstacles to overcome, ones I never even considered when I embarked on this full-time writing gig. I think this is a sign that I’m finally adjusting and letting myself exist and write in spite of the personal pressure and outward judgment. I feel like I’ve finally turned that corner, and it feels wonderful.

I am writing. I am a writer. I don’t need to justify that to anyone except myself and my very supportive husband.

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