What Happens After You Self-Publish: Dealing with Doubt and Imposter Syndrome

When I hit “publish” on my poetry collection, I thought I’d feel different, more confident, official, and “author.” I imagined this moment of transformation where all my insecurities would quietly exit the room and I’d be left basking in the glow of creative accomplishment.

Spoiler: that didn’t happen.

Instead, I started second-guessing everything. Was the book any good? Did I share it too soon? Should I have waited, done more, written better? Suddenly, I felt like I was playing dress-up as an author rather than being one.

That feeling has a name: impostor syndrome. And if you’ve ever published your work or even thought about it, you probably know it too well.

In this post, I want to talk about what it’s been like to navigate imposter syndrome after self-publishing. Because the truth is, getting your book out into the world is only half the journey. The other half? It’s what happens in your mind afterward.

What Is Imposter Syndrome and Why Do Writers Feel It So Deeply?

Imposter syndrome is that sneaky voice in your head that whispers, “You’re not good enough,” even when all evidence says otherwise. For writers, especially self-published ones, it can feel even louder. There’s no big publishing house validating your work, no literary agent giving you a gold star, just you, your words, and the brave act of putting them out into the world.

And yet, the minute the book goes live, that confidence can start to crumble. It’s not that you don’t believe in your work; you do (most days). But impostor syndrome has a way of making you question whether your voice deserves to be heard at all.

For me, it crept in slowly. One moment, I was celebrating my book launch, the next I was spiraling into thoughts like, “Am I even a real poet?” or “What if people are just being polite?”
But weirdly, it was at its most intense when the sales started coming in. That should’ve been the moment I felt proud and affirmed. Instead, I started to panic, “What if people read it and hate it?” or “What if I can’t live up to this?” I felt exposed, like everyone could suddenly see inside my head and maybe find nothing worth reading.

Sound familiar?

The thing is, you’re not alone, and more importantly, you’re not wrong for feeling this way. Imposter syndrome is incredibly common among creatives because we care deeply about what we’re making. And when you care, you’re vulnerable. And when you’re vulnerable, doubt likes to sneak in.

Why Imposter Syndrome Hits Hard After You Publish

Before I published my poetry collection, most of my fears lived in the hypothetical What if no one reads it? What if I never finish it? But once the book was out in the world, the fear changed.

It got real.

Suddenly, people were buying it. Messaging me. Sharing that it resonated with them. That should’ve been validating, and it was, in moments. But weirdly, that’s when the self-doubt got loudest. I started thinking:
What if it’s not as good as they say? What if I can’t live up to this?
And the worst one: Did I just get lucky?

There’s something incredibly vulnerable about being seen, especially when the thing they’re seeing is your art. It’s like you’ve opened a window to your inner world and invited strangers to look inside. That level of exposure? It can shake your confidence more than rejection ever did.

Imposter syndrome doesn’t always show up because you failed; it often shows up because you succeeded.

How I’m Dealing With It

I wish I could say I’ve cracked the code on impostor syndrome, but honestly, it’s still a work in progress. Some days, I feel grounded and proud. Other days, I reread a page and wonder how I ever thought I could call myself a poet.

But I’ve started to learn that dealing with imposter syndrome isn’t about silencing it completely, but it’s about learning how to talk back.

One thing that’s helped is keeping track of the real feedback, not just the likes or comments, but the messages from people who took the time to say, “Your words made me feel seen.” I save those. I return to them. Not to feed my ego, but to remind myself that my work matters even if it’s just to one person.

I’ve also stopped waiting for some mythical moment of “legitimacy.” No trophy says, Now you’re a real author. You don’t get knighted with a pen and declared official. Publishing your book on your terms is already a bold, valid act of authorship.

And most importantly, I keep writing. Not for perfection. Not for sale. Just to stay connected to the reason I started in the first place: because writing helps me make sense of the world.

So no, impostor syndrome hasn’t disappeared. But it’s no longer driving the car. I’ve put it in the backseat, and I’m learning to live with it without letting it lead.

To Anyone Else Feeling Like a Fraud, You’re Not Alone

If you’ve self-published your book or even just shared your work publicly and you’re feeling like you don’t deserve the title “author,” I want you to know this: you do.

It doesn’t matter if your book isn’t a bestseller. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t get a traditional publishing deal. And it doesn’t matter if you sometimes doubt yourself. The fact that you brought your vision to life and dared to share it? That’s real. That’s powerful. That’s enough.

Imposter syndrome feeds on silence. It grows when we think we’re the only ones wrestling with it. But the truth is, so many of us are walking around with the same quiet fears. So let’s stop pretending we’re supposed to have it all figured out.

If you’re writing, creating, putting your voice into the world, you are doing the work. You are an artist. You are an author.

And you belong here.

You’re Not Alone: Let’s Keep This Conversation Going

If this resonated with you, if you’ve felt that knot-in-your-stomach doubt even after doing something brave, know that I see you. I’m right there with you, figuring it out one word, one page, one poem at a time.

I share more reflections like this through my newsletter, where I talk honestly about the creative process, self-publishing, and the behind-the-scenes reality of being a poet in progress.

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Let’s build a space where we can be real, imperfect, and still show up for our creative dreams.