If someone were to tell me to define myself in one word, I would automatically say ‘artist’. I’ve been creating for as long as I can remember, short stories written messy in pen on printer paper in elementary school, music lessons throughout my childhood up until now, borrowing my dad’s DSLR until I finally got my own camera for Christmas the year I turned thirteen. I’ve been creating for so long that it has eventually become a part of me, and I would not be who I am without the art that I create.

That being said, I do not remember when I stopped creating for myself, and started to produce art for the predicted judgements of others. I believed I could protect myself through the creativity I chose to show the world, if I even decided to show the world at all. The years that I felt uncomfortable and insecure in who I was, coming of age in a judgmental, opinionated world, were the same years the art I made never saw the light of day–or at least the eyes of another human being besides myself.

It wasn’t until November of 2016, my sophomore year, that I posted a self-portrait of myself on my social media, declaring independence from my own doubts of my art. For me, this was a very large leap in the battle of coming to terms with who I was. I was supposed to always be the one behind the camera, not in front of it. A year before, when the self portrait had been taken, I never would have dared to share it with anyone. However, the support I received from those I knew truly cared for me was so encouraging, and I vowed from then on I would do my best to not allow my fears to become obstacles.

Nearly two years later, I am a senior still struggling with the same problem of apprehensive creation that I’ve wrestled with for many years. Before anyone is exposed to something I’ve created, I feel the need to jump in with an explanation, a justification as to why I feel as though my art is still imperfect and unworthy. My writing is a little rough here, I was up too late that night, I’m sorry. This photograph is not exposed correctly, I was a bit distracted during this shoot, I’m sorry. There were too many mistakes in my performance of Mozart’s violin concerto in D major, I couldn’t banish the anxiety from my mind, I am sorry.

I think it is easy for others to dismiss my explaining myself as creating excuses for who I am. Perhaps I could be doing so, subconsciously. My continuous apologies do come from a place of deep insecurity, after all. However, I am slowly discovering that there is power in my ability as an artist to be unapologetic. I was told recently that I should never apologize for who I am or what I have created. That I “owe it to myself and the world to create as fearlessly as possible”. And never before have I found such strength in words of advice.

To you, who is reading this article, I urge you to create, live, exist unapologetically. Looking back from a point where I am months away from graduating, I have to say that if I have learned one thing in high school, it is that apologies are constantly demanded from us and extensions of what we choose to put out into the world. There may be times when creating seems futile, like there are only ends or no end at all. Times when we feel as though we must hide the people we are destined to become. Whether you are an artist like me, an athlete, or someone still searching for where they belong: never apologize for who you are or the things that have made you. Live unapologetically.