I put myself forward for a writing gig this month that I almost didn’t put myself forward for.

I’d seen the call out – asking for CV submissons – and immediately dismissed it as not something I would be good or experienced enough for. It required a writing muscle that I’ve not exercised in years and I feared would now be too out of shape.

But then my agent asked me if I was going to put myself forward for it. I said no, and gave my excuses reasons. And then – being both a good person and a good agent – she told me that I should.

Old me would have continued to resist. New me a) realised I was resisting, b) knew my agent was right, and c) submitted my CV.

And while I knew that it was an extremely long shot, I also knew that the point, really, wasn’t whether I would get the gig or not. The point was that I had just got out of my own way.

The ways in which we block ourselves are a constant source of fascination to me – I wrote about smashing personal glass ceilings in this post – and my on-off 10 years in therapy were pretty much about that journey. Not so much about the things that were ‘done to’ me or happened to me, but my responses and reactions to them, and my unconscious part in perpetuating my unhappiness – whether that was in terms of keeping my career ambitions small or choosing romantic partners in the style of Julie in Tootsie (“There are a lot of men out there. I’m selective. I look around very carefully. And when I find the one I think can give me the worst possible time, that’s when I make my move.”)

I would say ‘But enough of my past romantic life!’ but in fact it’s something I’ve carried into my work writing romcoms, and indeed writing everything else. My lead characters are invariably their own worst enemies, and instead of having an out-and-out ‘baddy’ my scripts usually see the antagonist as some part of the protagonist. It’s why I’ve never bought the argument that it’s harder to write romantic comedies in this age of technology and online dating and such. As long as humans are human, we will always create our own internal obstacles to love and happiness (sob!) and as a result, we will always have plots for romcoms (hurrah!).

But back to that writing gig: because not long after submitting to it, I told a writer friend about another opportunity I’d seen come up that I thought she’d be interested in and great for. I found myself acting as my agent had done for me: encouraging my friend to apply despite her imposter syndrome.

Because here’s the thing with imposter syndrome… actually, here’s two things. One, just about everyone feels it to some degree, no matter how accomplished or successful they are; and two, it’s precisely that: a feeling, not a fact – one which stems from our inner critic as opposed to our inner best friend – and given all our neuroses and anxieties and self-criticism, I think we’re frankly very unreliable sources when it comes to determining whether we’re actually imposters or not. There are enough gatekeepers in this industry – in this world! – without us being our own bouncer refusing to let us in because our name’s not on the list. Or as I put it to my friend: why rule ourselves out before others have had a chance to do just that?

So dear writer/creative friend, if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, try to take a moment to recognise whether you’re blocking yourself – and if you are, step up for yourself by stepping out of your own way. You will have nothing to lose and everything to gain – and even if that particular opportunity doesn’t work out for you, another one will.

Indeed, the more I think about putting myself forward for that writing gig, the more I realise what the point of doing so actually was. It wasn’t, as I said, whether I’d get the gig. But perhaps it wasn’t even that I got out of my own way. The point is that I got out of my own way once, which means that I can do it again. And again. And again… And that’s a muscle worth exercising.