Permission To NOT Be A Writer
Why I’m Not a Writer (And What That Frees Me to Be). A piece that's pulled together threads of conversations with ChatGPT as I made this realisation.
I am not a writer.
I am a teacher.
I’ve earned that title. I’ve carried it through fire. I know its weight, its reach, and its responsibilities.
And honestly? It feels good to finally say that — because for a while, I was trying to be something I’m not.
I’ve been part of a few writing programmes where I was encouraged (or rather, gently but firmly told) to claim the title “writer.”
Say it out loud. Post it online. Tell the world.
I know the intent was positive — it was meant to empower.
But for me, it felt… off. Like being handed a jumper two sizes too small and told to wear it as a badge of honour.
The label didn’t feel earned.
It felt like a role I was being asked to perform, not a craft I’d studied or practiced with professional support.
And that quietly blocked my creativity instead of unlocking it.
On the morning that this all clicked into place, I had a dream.
I was on a kind of retreat with a group. There was a small pool — somewhere between a jacuzzi and a large bath — and people were taking turns going in. When it was my turn, I walked into the room and saw that the pool was completely covered in thick duvets. People were in the water, under the covers. Hidden. It was dark, and honestly, not that inviting.
I wasn’t keen. I think I just… opted out and went off on my own. And I felt fine about it.
Later, I realised how much that dream mirrored my experience in those group writing spaces — all softness on the surface, but underneath, something was being smothered.
Truths weren’t really being shared.
Voices weren’t being heard.
And most of the interaction flowed through the space-holder rather than among participants.
It looked cosy. But it didn’t feel free.
And the identity “writer” was part of that for me — something handed to me, rather than something I’d arrived at through my own process, with rigour and feedback.
Meanwhile, there was a role I’d quietly left unclaimed — the one I actually had trained in, been shaped by, been tested in, and deeply care about.
Teacher.
Not just through experience — though there’s plenty of that — but through study.
Through reflection.
Through being held accountable, mentored and supported to grow.
I’ve seen what happens when someone takes on the role of teacher without the grounding that role deserves.
And I realised — if I feel that way about teaching, why wouldn’t I feel the same about writing?
There’s a reason we have training, feedback, and professional mentorship in fields like this.
It’s not gatekeeping — it’s craft.
And collapsing that into “I did it, so you can too” misses the point entirely.
As soon as I let go of the pressure to be a writer, things started to move again.
Ideas flowed.
I found myself enjoying the process of sharing — in ways that actually suit me.
Not in isolation, but in co-creation. Not from pressure, but from presence.
I’m not a writer.
I’m a teacher.
And funnily enough, the moment I let go of the label I hadn’t earned, I found my voice again.
How about you? Have you ever taken on an identity that wasn’t truly you? Could there be one that you’re holding now that’s holding you back?
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It's so interesting how titles can impact us - either positively, or by holding us back. I love how you've worked this one through and now own the 'teacher' title.