When Self-Doubt Creeps In (and Why I Keep Creating Anyway)

When Self-Doubt Creeps In (and Why I Keep Creating Anyway)

Sometimes, when I think about making art, I get these wild, exciting ideas—things I want to try, things that feel a little out of reach. And almost immediately, this voice in my head whispers, “There’s no way you can pull that off. You’re not skilled enough for that.” Cue the procrastination spiral. Not the light, casual kind, either—the overwhelming, paralyzing kind that keeps me from even picking up a brush. 

But then, eventually, I do sit down to paint. Or draw. And once I start, something strange happens: time disappears. Hours slide by unnoticed. I fall into that trance-like space where creating takes over and the world gets quiet.

And then I come out the other side—blinking, tired, covered in smudges—and there it is. The thing I imagined is right there, looking back at me. It always feels a bit like magic. Like I survived the whole experience by the skin of my teeth. I usually say to myself, “Wow. I actually pulled it off this time.” And honestly? Sometimes it feels like no one else is going to believe it either.

I’ve often wondered if other artists feel this way. Is it just me?

Years ago, I used to take on commissions. And while it was flattering that someone wanted something I created, it also brought on an avalanche of stress. The pressure to meet expectations—to get it “right” for someone else—just about crushed the joy out of the process. Eventually, it became so anxiety-inducing that I stepped away from creating altogether for a while. I just couldn’t handle the constant panic that I was going to disappoint someone.

And then there’s the other ever-present question: Is my art even good?

There are pieces I’ve made that genuinely make my heart skip a beat. I look at them and think, I did that? Even if I was half in a creative fog when it happened, I feel this immense pride. But then the doubt creeps back in. What if I’m just like one of those singers who belts it out in the car thinking they sound amazing... but really, it’s just awful? Am I tone-deaf to my own art?

Maybe it’s because I never had formal training. I’ve taught myself everything I know—through years of practice, trial and error, and a whole lot of paint-splattered failures. And I don’t do things the way I see other artists doing them.

I don’t underpaint. I don’t sketch out everything in detail beforehand. If I’m painting a boat, I paint the whole sea first—waves, color, motion—and then I build the boat right on top. Then the details come. I treat my backgrounds like foundations, not afterthoughts. Maybe that’s unconventional. Maybe that’s wrong. But it’s how I’ve been creating for 20 years. 

And yes, sometimes that makes me feel like an imposter. Like I’m not really a “real” artist because I don’t follow the rules. But maybe that’s just part of being human—carrying around a little bag of doubt even as we do the things we love.

Will I stop creating? No.
Will I suddenly start doing things differently? Also no.

Because even when it’s messy, uncertain, and filled with doubt…the need to create is on level with needing to breathe.