Every thought I had attending a writing group as a chronically anxious person
I joined an online writing community of poets and essayists. Here's every thought that's popped into my anxious newbie brain.
Back in June, I joined a writing community.
OK, not just any writing community—
’s Sustenance. A craft-driven community of over 200 poets and lyrical essayists, Sustenance is advertised as a curious, intellectually rigorous, and deeply welcoming community.When the Sustenance doors opened, I was in England, eating dinner at a London restaurant with my husband and his best friend. I’d set an alarm for 9 PM to increase my chance of snagging a spot, and my fingers shook as I entered my credit card details.
Was I really doing this?
Was I actually going to hang out with other writers?!
My spot procured, I celebrated with a glass of red wine. It was the writerly choice.
Confession: I had never attended a writing group before.
I didn’t study writing at school (beyond core English and one year of AS English Lit), and I don’t have an MFA. Although I loved writing as a kid, I never took it seriously as a passion or possible vocation. I excelled at academic writing, but I never connected my good grades with the fact that I might be good at, well, you know… ‘writing’.
After I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2018, I started a blog, and I’ve been writing ever since. Still, it took me a long time to admit that I had actual writing goals. I wrote a hundred pages before confessing to anyone that I was working on a book. And then I worked for another couple of years before sharing the manuscript with anyone else. It was several more years before I considered putting my writing out there on a platform as terrifying as Substack.
All this to say, my relationship with writing has been a cautious one. Yes, I love it—I’m not sure where I’d be if I hadn’t found writing. But in my mind, ‘writing’ as a craft has always been way up on the highest pedestal imaginable. I haven’t always felt good or deserving enough to try and reach for it. And worse, what if I put myself out there and failed? Like… in a very embarrassing public capacity?
Nobody likes failing, but perfectionists particularly hate it, because we’ve made the fatal error of binding success to the very roots of our self-worth.
At the beginning of the year, having tackled several of my loftier goals—working with an editor on my manuscript, writing consistently on Substack, picking the delicious brains of literary agents—I turned my thoughts to studying writing.
Yes, I probably should’ve done this sooner, but I also think there’s a lot to be said for putting in the hours as a novice. You can’t understand how the sausage is made if you’ve never set foot in a kitchen. (Apologies for the disgusting analogy.)
I began to wonder if I should join a—gulp—writing class. Heart palpitations ensued.
Not long after my tentative daydreaming began, Joy Sullivan announced she would be opening some spots in her much-lauded online writing community. I find Substack often comes through in this way. I’ll be in search of something professional growth-related, and BAM, it appears in my feed. I don’t believe in signs, but I do think that if you put yourself out there—and then, crucially, pay attention—the things you’re searching for will often materialise.
For the last few months, I’ve been dipping my toes in the craft pool. And what do you know, the water’s great! Warm. Very supportive.
Here are the stages I went through as a chronically anxious writing group virgin…
🙀 New student jitters
I haven’t been a student in a very long time. Was it always this scary?
OK, just leave the Zoom camera on. It’s not so bad. You don’t have to speak.
God, I hope I’m not asked to read one of the poems aloud. There’s probably a proper way to do it, and I don’t know what that is.
Ooo, I like this poem, maybe I could leave a comment about it in the chat?
Did someone just like my comment?!
OK—maybe I have thoughts about this poem. I could probably talk about it. No one has to know that I’m nervous.
Why the HELL are my hands shaking?!
👩🏫 Being slightly awe-struck
Everyone is so smart and cool.
And wow. It’s Joy freaking Sullivan.
I hope I don’t sound like an absolute twatbag.
The sheer amount of brilliance within this group is astonishing. I love listening to everyone’s thoughts, critiques and poems.
How is everyone sharing the most stunning poems you’ve ever heard after five minutes of writing time?
(Side note: I know nothing about poetry, but I’m really enjoying the poetry classes. There’s a lot of wisdom that can be applied to the personal essay.)
It’s really cool that there are so many people who want to spend their time talking about writing.
📓 Wait, is learning FUN?
Even though I’m scared of looking like an idiot, the more I learn, the more I want to learn. It’s kind of addictive.
Learning is the gateway drug to taking yourself seriously!
I’m loving discovering actual terms for different kinds of essays and poems, things I’ve come across in the wild without even realising.
Learning is opening up a whole new world of creative writing.
💪 Building bravery
My anxiety never really goes away, but I’m getting better at showing up anyway.
Yes, I’m still scared, but I’m getting less scared all the time.
And the more I stretch myself, the further I’ll reach.
🥹 Crying in public (about poems)
I haven’t listened to anyone read poetry since school. I’d forgotten how moving it is.
It’s the same feeling you get when you attend a concert and realise everyone in the audience is feeling the same emotions as you.
It’s oddly nice to group cry about a poem you’ve just heard. It’s like the weight of the human experience is echoing in our ears.
This one poem—Ocean Vuong’s Aubade with Burning City—gave me full-body goosebumps and tingles. I didn’t know poetry could do that.
👯♀️ Belonging (I hope)
I always avoided writing groups because I feared being outed as an imposter. What if the other members laughed at me or rolled their eyes at my idiocy?
But what if everyone in the group has felt the same way as me at some point in their writing life?
I’m starting to think that there’s no such thing as inherent ‘belonging’. The only way to belong is to keep showing up and getting involved.
You more I put myself out there, the more likely it is that I’ll find my ‘people.’
I still have imposter syndrome, but I’m really glad I joined a writing community. Especially one filled with such lovely and inspiring folks. We all have to start somewhere, and I can’t think of a better place to grow as a writer.
If you’re thinking of taking a class, consider this your Subtack sign!
Sustenance is opening its doors again in January, so make sure you’re on the waitlist.
Speaking of classes, I’d love to share this upcoming workshop with you! I’ve taken two courses with
before—essay writing and a pitching party—and both were incredible. Not to mention, Juliane is an unbelievably kind and supportive person! She’s been helping me with an essay I’m currently pitching, and I couldn’t be more grateful for her expertise.I’ll be attending this upcoming workshop myself, and Juliane has kindly shared a 10% discount for Attempts at Optimism readers: EMV10
I hope to see you there! You can sign up here.
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Thanks so much for reading! Here’s your puppy tax for making it to the end 🤣
Suki has been summoning spirits in the garden, and Flynn has been upping his efforts to distract me from writing class.
Before you go: Have you ever attended a writers’ group? I’d love to hear your experience in the comments!
And if you haven’t—is it something you’d like to try?
Oh, and don’t forget to tap the 🧡 button on your way out.
(Unhearted posts torpedo my self-worth.)
I'm usually nervous when I join a writing group. But, after a while that expires. I like what Cynthia Leiffer wrote. She's correct. You find them. You stay and, when it doesn't do for you what you need, you leave. It's the way a writing life works.
Writing groups are worth a try. Some work and some don't, some for a short time, and some gems last longer. If it fits, it evokes emotions, strengthens bonds among writers, and can evoke hidden creativity. With or without anxiety. All part of the process. So is imposter syndrome.