The Backstory

Initially, I was living with two friends in a rented house in Crumlin, Dublin, a working-class area that had its tough spots but was home to some fantastic older residents. However, the younger crowd could be a nuisance.

We had a small three-bedroom house, and we had fallen behind on rent. One of us had the funds while the other two needed money urgently.

Hash

To resolve our financial dilemma, we opted to buy two nine bars—a nine-ounce block of hashish. Purchasing drugs in bulk typically involves paying half upfront and the remainder after selling.

We believed we could sell the hash to friends and acquaintances, recoup our investment, and even profit enough to cover our rent and have some left over.

At that time, I was not only using drugs recreationally—hash, weed, cocaine, and ecstasy—but I had also started selling them. My life was spiraling, far from the dreams I had when I left rural Wexford for the city.

I had already dropped out of college twice. Balancing the demands of living in Dublin while trying to manage rent forced me into dead-end jobs that I despised. Working in bars from 6 PM to 2 AM and then attending college at 9 AM was a grueling cycle that ultimately led to a hospital visit due to exhaustion at just 18 years old—a stark reality check.

Fast forward to when I was about 22, and I realized I was resorting to drug dealing just to make ends meet. I knew I was at a breaking point.

About a Girl

Then, another significant event occurred.

A coworker invited me and my friends to join her and her sisters for a night out. She was of French-Irish descent, and her sisters were visiting. Though we were friends, I felt she was far too extraordinary for me to consider pursuing.

One of my housemates, who had facilitated our earlier drug transaction, expressed interest in her. I encouraged him, knowing she was brilliant and beautiful.

However, during the outing, she showed no interest in him, leading to his departure in frustration. To my surprise, she approached me afterward and confessed her feelings, stating that she found my friend somewhat creepy and wanted to kiss me.

Did I Break the 'Bro-Code'?

I don't think so; her feelings were clear, and she wasn't interested in him.

The next day, my friend confronted me, physically expressing his anger at my actions. This moment marked the beginning of the decline of our friendship, which I never intended. He couldn’t cope with the fact that she preferred me.

Complicating matters was the fact that he had previously pursued and slept with several of my friends without eliciting any jealousy from me—it was all rather perplexing.

As you can imagine, this situation escalated. My drug dealing continued, and my friendship was deteriorating. I recognized that I had to make a change and return to college to hone my skills for the future I desired.

Our friendship became toxic, characterized by his passive-aggressive behavior. Eventually, he moved out, and since that time, I’ve only spoken to him once—a drunken call where he inquired about any lingering animosity. I reassured him that I held no grudges, although he still owed me money from our shared past.

Journalism

I decided it was time to return to college. Given my poor school performance, I opted for a private institution with a solid reputation in journalism—many alumni had become successful writers and journalists.

The experience was rewarding, especially during the fiction writing semester where I excelled.

I briefly worked at Irish newspapers and music magazines, but the economic downturn forced me to make a choice: I emigrated to Poland, intending to stay for three years. It's been nearly 15 years now, and I have no plans to leave, regardless of external pressures.

While living here, I've held various roles: English teacher, editor for an online music site, proofreader/copywriter for a major IT firm, and even sports writer. In recent years, I’ve pursued training as a counselor.

So, that’s my background.

Writing

Despite my varied career, I have often felt unfulfilled in my jobs. My passion has always been writing, and my academic achievements reflect my potential in this area.

However, I still grapple with the feeling that I’m not particularly skilled.

My writing tends to be straightforward, and the words I produce seldom match the beauty of the ideas swirling in my mind.

Jimi Hendrix once expressed a similar frustration, lamenting that the music he created didn’t resonate with the sounds he envisioned.

Nevertheless, I’ve enjoyed a somewhat successful writing career. Editors and colleagues have praised my work, and during my time as an editor and proofreader, I encountered no significant issues with supervisors; they were satisfied with my contributions.

So, why do I still feel like a fraud?

Imposter Syndrome

Have I set unrealistic expectations for myself? Do I crave recognition?

As for the first question, maybe, but I’m uncertain where my standards truly lie. The second is merely a fleeting surge of ego.

I don’t believe my expectations are excessively high. My goal is to write in a way that clearly communicates my ideas.

Since joining Medium last September, I’ve realized I missed the peak era when writers could quit their day jobs due to earnings here.

Despite this, I’ve had numerous articles gain traction and even go viral, earning me a decent income.

Yet, I still don’t perceive myself as a 'real' writer. Why is that? I can’t quite articulate it.

Perhaps it’s because I revere my literary heroes—Cormac McCarthy, WB Yeats, James Joyce, Chuck Palahniuk, Ernest Hemingway, Hunter S. Thompson, Alejandro Jodorowsky, Philip K. Dick, among others.

Theodore Roosevelt once said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” Although I don’t directly compare myself to these writers, they inspire me and set a benchmark I strive to reach.

I don’t aim to emulate them, but I yearn to capture language in a way that resonates with readers.

Checking my Medium statistics invigorates me.

For years, blogging felt like running on a treadmill while being buffeted by a headwind. On Medium, I’ve discovered that my writing is appreciated not just by editors but also by an engaged readership.

The joy that brings me is indescribable.

This paradox of being a writer is challenging to articulate. However, I can say it’s deeply rewarding and humbling to know that countless individuals enjoy the words I weave on subjects I’m passionate about.

Perhaps I have found part of the answer. I don’t write with an audience in mind, as I believe that would undermine the craft. Instead, I strive to connect with the essence of the topic, allowing my thoughts to flow through the words I type.

Now aware that my work resonates with readers here on Medium, I must credit you, dear reader, with alleviating my feelings of imposter syndrome.

Thank you immensely for taking the time to engage with my thoughts. It’s a genuine pleasure to share this connection with you.

Hi, I'm Paddy. Thank you for reading my exploration of imposter syndrome.

I'm a counselor and writer.

For inquiries regarding counseling sessions, you can reach me here.

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