If You Make Art, You’re an Artist: Beyond Imposter Syndrome

If you run, you’re a runner. If you write a single poem, you’re a poet. If you sing to your children in the quiet of night, you are a singer.

And yet, for so many caregivers and parents, the word artist feels too heavy to claim. Imposter syndrome whispers that you haven’t done enough, earned enough, published enough. Family dynamics, financial pressures, and cultural expectations tell you that your role is to care, provide, or support—not to create. Invisible labor keeps you so occupied that the thought of pursuing unpaid art feels selfish. But here’s the truth: if you make art, in any form, you are already an artist.

Imposter Syndrome and the Artist-Parent

Imposter syndrome thrives in silence. It convinces you that everyone else is more qualified, more legitimate, more deserving. For parents, this feeling is magnified by the pause or shift that comes with caregiving. We internalize the idea that stepping back makes us less of an artist, that time away erases what we’ve built.

But artistry isn’t measured by productivity. It’s measured by presence, by voice, by courage to make. Even in fragments, your art matters.

Family Roles and Creative Identity

In many households, the roles of primary caregiver and primary earner are still deeply influenced by cultural norms. Care work—whether done by mothers, fathers, or non-binary parents—tends to be undervalued and under-recognized. At the same time, the partner who earns more financially may feel more entitled to claim time and space for their pursuits.

This imbalance isn’t just about families—it’s about systems. Societal expectations still assume that caregiving can be endlessly stretched, while creative work is seen as optional. Challenging this narrative begins with language. Naming yourself an artist is not arrogance—it’s resistance. It’s reclaiming space in a culture that tells caregivers to disappear.

Invisible Labor and the Devaluation of Art

Much of caregiving and household work is invisible. Emotional support, organizing, mental load—these tasks rarely get counted, yet they consume enormous time and energy. When parents layer creativity on top of this, especially when that creativity doesn’t immediately generate income, it can feel doubly invisible.

But unpaid does not mean unworthy. The art you make in the margins has value—cultural, emotional, and personal. It nurtures you. It shifts the stories we tell. It creates models for our children that creativity is as essential as survival.

The Guilt of Pursuing Art

Caregivers are conditioned to feel guilty for prioritizing themselves. When your art doesn’t “earn,” the guilt compounds: Why am I spending time on this? Shouldn’t I be doing something more practical?

The truth is, your art is not optional. It’s vital. It sustains your identity, your joy, your mental health. Children don’t only need caregivers who provide for them—they need caregivers who are alive to their own passions, who model creativity as a way of being in the world.

Reframing Artist Identity

You don’t need a gallery show, a record deal, or a paycheck to claim the word “artist.” If you make art, you are an artist. If you dream of making art, you are an artist. Even if you haven’t created in years, the fact that you long for it means the artist in you is still alive.

Owning this identity is a step toward healing imposter syndrome and dismantling the guilt that comes from unpaid or undervalued creative work.

How Creative Recovery Club Holds This Space

At CRC, we know the weight of invisible labor, the complexity of family roles, and the pressure of imposter syndrome. That’s why we’ve built a community where caregivers and artist-parents can reclaim the word artist without apology. Through workshops, voice notes, and shared stories, we remind each other: you belong here. Your creativity matters. Your identity is valid.

Conclusion
If you run, you’re a runner. If you make art, you are an artist. You don’t need permission, credentials, or paychecks to claim that truth. Let go of the guilt, the invisibility, the narratives that keep you small. Your art is not only real—it’s necessary. And together, we’re building a culture where artist-parents and caregivers can be seen, heard, and celebrated.