This may sound cheesy to those who don’t appreciate social media as much, but on January 10, 2015, I posted a picture on Instagram of one word that I had penciled on a piece of paper: Writer. I had a friend who told me to think of what I dreamed of being and write it down, hang it up on my wall (in my case, post it on Instagram), and talk to God about what that dream means for me, why I have that dream inside me.

I posted that word on Instagram reluctantly. I doubted I could ever be labeled as a true writer. “Writer” seemed like an unreachable label; there are so many people who scoff at those who say they are a writer. Everybody writes, so it can’t mean much when you say you’re a writer. A legitimate writer has a whole plot thought out for his four-part series. A writer has cabinets full of their own articles that have been published in newspapers. A writer has a physical hard copy of their own work between two covers. A writer has followers, fans, a profit. If you don’t have those things, you can’t call yourself a writer.

This “unreachable” dream didn’t wriggle to life for the first time in 2015 for me, though. For years I’ve been reading and writing. Since I was little I have recorded the stories that were happening around me in random diaries and going back to read them later. The first story I recorded was a memoir of sorts: I wrote about my first turkey hunt when I was 5 years old, even including the dialogue that I could remember.

I have journals full of my life’s words in my drawers. I have too many files on my computer of stories that have never been finished, poems that have been forgotten. For years, I’ve written just to stay alive and sane. Putting words on a page has been my own personal therapy.

But putting words on a page for the public? Never thought about it. I was fine with being a writer in secret, and for a while, I forgot about that post on Instagram. I wrote just to read my own work and occasionally let my family members edit whatever I was really invested in at the time. Besides, how would my work even be good enough to be published? “You are your worst critic” is basically my life motto.

My first year at college, I saw an article that my friend had shared on Facebook from Odyssey. I clicked on it because the title intrigued me. I saw the author’s name. It was my friend sharing her own work! Her article was out there for the entire nation to read.

I walked down the hall in my dorm to ask her how she got involved with this Odyssey site. She gave me the email address for the editor. A few emails and one application later, I had what I didn’t think I’d ever have as a “writer” without solid credentials that every real writer seemed to have: I had a platform. I had the power to overcome my fears and doubts and publish my own work.

So my first article came out in February of 2016. Nothing too fancy or profound, just my words on the page explaining an interest of mine and my opinion. But still, there they were. . . My words on an official webpage for all to read. Or at least, for those who clicked on my article link to read.

I have produced an article nearly every week since February. Some I have been more proud of than others. If it were my sole job to produce articles each week, I’m sure I would be happier with every article, but I am a full-time college student with two jobs, extra-curricular activities and homework to do each night. Again, I am my own worst critic. But some of the responses from my readers has really surprised me. I had friends, family members, even friends of friends that I didn't know come up to me and tell me they remember the article from that week, that it was really cool or inspiring or funny. They share what they thought and it blows me away that people actually read some of my work. Writing for Odyssey has given me a small taste of what it’s like to share my dream and myself through words.

Odyssey hasn’t made me a profit or made me famous or landed me an important job offer. I still don’t have my name in a magazine and I don’t have a byline in a major newspaper (I’m working on it). But my time with the Odyssey has empowered me to associate with the word “writer.” It has allowed me to discover myself as a writer, to own up to that label I once deemed unreachable, and it has allowed me to share my voice through my own uncensored words. I’m so grateful for what has happened during my time writing for the Odyssey.

This will be my last article on Odyssey. But this won’t be the end of my writing career, this is just the beginning.