I am enough.

I am smart enough. I am funny enough. On a good day, I’m a pretty decent writer.

Don’t mistake this for bragging! This is self-preservation. I’m putting this here because I want to forever remember the moment I finally realized all those words are true and, absurdly, it took GQ mistaking an IED for a popular form of birth control to get me here.

I left my job as a full-time writer and editor at a local alt-weekly newspaper about a year ago, and it hasn’t been easy finding steady footing as a freelance writer.

Sure, I’ve had fleeting moments of confidence — and I’ve written several essays and articles I’m deeply proud of — but it’s isolating, unpredictable work, and a Petri dish for not-yet-discovered strains of Imposter Syndrome.

Every rejection makes me doubt myself. (What a fucking dumb idea, of course they turned this down.) Every acceptance makes me doubt the editor. (Are you sure you want me to write this?) I’ve hit “undo” on dozens of emails. I’ve sat on drafts and pitches for months, convinced someone better, someone smarter will come along and write it.

Then a writer at GQ made the year’s greatest typo and all my self-doubt melted away.

In an Oct. 29 story titled “Alexander Vindman and a Brief History of the GOP Smearing Veterans,” Luke Darby wrote that Alexander Vindman received a Purple Heart after being wounded by an IUD.

An IUD, of course, is an intrauterine device, a form of birth control. Unless Vindman got a Purple Heart after pricking his dick on some woman’s Kyleena during an especially passionate humping session — men reward themselves for all kinds of nonsense these days! — Darby intended to write “IED,” an improvised explosive device.

The magazine issued a correction and today that correction has been shared and liked on Twitter by tens of thousands of people. Business Insider wrote about it, Task and Purpose, a veteran-focused news site, wrote about it.

God, how embarrassing.

I don’t generally revel in one’s blunder. We all make mistakes. Every writer has lost sleep over a rushed draft or an unfortunate typo. But aside from being absolutely hilarious, this typo is especially notable for a number of reasons.

It’s evidence of what can happen when there isn’t enough gender diversity in writing rooms. It’s an example of just how far quality can slip — even in the best writers and editors — when newsrooms and freelance budgets are shrinking and people are being forced to write more while getting paid less. Pair that with the pressure that comes with the lack of job security — you may have noticed that reputable outlets continue to be gutted by greedy corporations that are turning our favorite websites into content farms — and, well, typos like this are inevitable.

But that typo — no matter how it happened — also reminded me that I am enough. I would’ve caught that typo. I did catch that typo.

Over the summer I took an edit test for an outlet I so very badly wanted to work for. It was an outlet I’ve read for over a decade and just the sheer idea of getting to join the editorial staff made my stomach cramp up with nervous excitement.

The edit test was comprised of a number of different sentences, all purposefully riddled with all kinds of errors. Among them was one sentence from a recently published film review about an IED-sniffing dog. They referred to it as an IUD-sniffing dog.

I laughed out loud to no one when I spotted the error. An IUD-sniffing dog! Can you imagine?! Who would miss such an error?!

Weeks later I found out I didn’t get the job.

Was it because I couldn’t relocate? Was it because there are one million talented yet unemployed writers all applying for the same five positions? Probably! Still, I assumed it was because I was an idiot. I convinced myself I am nothing more than a witless baby who’s managed to squeeze out some semblance of a writing career only because the world is filled with patient editors who are all too nice to tell me to fuck off.

But there are men out there getting writing jobs and editor positions despite not being able to make the very important distinction between an IED and an IUD. I, at the very least, can do that.

The next time I catch myself staring wistfully at my drafts folder, wondering if I should shoot my shot, I’m gonna look up at that GQ correction (which, yes, will be printed out and hung on the wall above my work space), and hit “send.” You should, too.