The other night I went to a writer’s workshop. I contributed to a discussion on the short story we all read beforehand and engaged in dialogue about the authors style, technique and other nuances in the material.

Feeling overly unsure about myself, I stated at least twice that I am “NOT” a writer. Just to be clear. Yes, I write daily, extensively, and I have a blog. But again, I am not a writer … Just to be clear.

As I told them what I was not, nobody argued with me. In a room of virtual strangers, they were willing to believe what I claimed myself not to be. And in spite of the evidence that I belonged, my declaration that I did not became the reality I created.

Like habits that never grow old, I recognized this familiar pattern within my life. Declaring what I am not in the face of what I desire the most, in order to disassociate myself from the responsibility of the truth that I am.

A declaration of what “I am not” can be an honest reflection of where a personal boundary may be.

And sometimes, for the person who is still trying to catch up to themselves, a declaration of what “I am not” is an indicator that points to the very thing that wants to be recognized.