My mom had hopes that I would be a children’s author. So did I. 

Not “red fish, blue fish” stuff, but something like A Wrinkle in Time. Something smart but also fun and sweet. 

When I applied to grad school last fall, I had this in mind. I had plans for a young adult novel, a take on a space exploration piece with lots of family relationship aspects and action. It was Caleb’s idea mostly, the space exploration part, and it was fun to try. But I put so much pressure on it. 

For example: two summers ago, I did research under a professor friend of mine on Third Culture Kid writing. As a TCK myself, I wanted my writing to fit the boxes we had set up, because I really wanted that identity to be mine. Then, I needed it to be a space fic for Caleb. And children’s fiction, so my mom would love it, and so that I could be called “a TCK children’s writer.” 

This is called “ego entanglement.” I made my audience’s perception of me (and thereby my perception of myself) the sole goal of my writing. It crippled my work.

When I was inevitably rejected from the six MFA programs I applied to, my understanding of myself as a writer crumbled into a number of pieces that were far too small to pick up for a while. And even if I had wanted to, my hands had frozen. 

Save for one sentence that formed in my mind in March, I didn’t write until July. Over the months, I would tell Caleb that I was feeling the urge to write, and then I would spiral into a tornado of questions: What would I write? How would it help me build a career? Who would publish it? Would it be a novel or a short story? Did I have the ability to even write a novel? If I didn’t, then shouldn’t I just give up on being a writer? Who even reads short stories other than college students for class? 

This culminated in July. I told Caleb I wanted to write, put a bag together to go to a coffee shop, and then laid down on our bed. I had been staring at the wall, picking at my hands and the sheets below me for half an hour when he found me. I didn’t move to look at him, and when he asked me how writing was going, I didn’t laugh. He left the room. 

When he came back, he said, “I turned the car on. Your laptop and bag are in it, and it’s gonna run until you get in and take it to a coffee shop and write.” 

Yes, Audience, he’s a good guy. 

That afternoon I promised myself that anything I wrote would not see the light of day. Obsessing over who would read my work and how I’d “make it big” had glued me to my bed, the same way that obsessing over those things had crippled my grad school application. So at Ziggi’s, I turned off the part of my brain that considered the people I love the most, and the part the considered my writing an extension of my love for them, and just started to try things. 

And I wrote. Since then, I’ve written a half-baked piece that bends time, a really cool sci-fi horror story, poems about squirrels, and a detailed creative journal project from my time in India last month. For various reasons, many of these pieces will not ever be published, but they are powerful for me. They are slowly lighting a path toward helping me understand what interests me creatively and what I want to learn. 

I am doing my best to not think of them as showing me what kind of writer I want to “be.” I’m learning that’s dangerous. 

I’m learning that writing the way I want to takes time and practice, and a lot of bravery. I’m learning that writing the way I want to will not happen if I obsess over what that writing will do for my career and my relationships. And I’m learning that even if the work I create is heavy, scary, or confusing, the people I love will continue to love me, and even if my art is those things, it can still be an extension of my love for them. 

And if I’m honest, I’m grateful they see reading my art as a form of showing their love for me. I would rather they read my art and have a negative reaction than not care enough to read it at all. 

Kate Wilmot

Kate Wilmot (’24) is a Grand Rapids resident who has found herself in the in-betweens of undergrad and post-grad life. She is an avid children’s fiction reader and a globally-minded cook who will feed anyone that walks in her door. You can find her losing to her husband in pickleball, weight lifting, or getting coffee with her mom.