The Truth About Imposter Syndrome

Chantal Manna
Sep 5, 2018 · 5 min read
Gustave Courbet, Le Désespéré, 1843–1845, oil on canvas.

I love learning. I have always enjoyed listening and absorbing new ideas in the classroom. My university career was one of enormous privilege. I was lucky enough to have been taught by some brilliant minds who changed my world for the better. They introduced me to some of my greatest loves (the paintings of Caravaggio and the sculptures of Bernini). I’m a Baroque art historian, so you can imagine how hard I fell…

Yet, the academic environment was, at times, a deeply unhappy place. I got my first taste of its bitterness once the excitement of September frosh settled into the stress of October mid-terms. My anxiety grew as I received my first wave of graded assignments. “How the mighty have fallen,” I thought to myself as my paper was returned to me; I went from straight A+ in high school to a lowly B- in a matter of weeks. As the B’s and C’s rolled in, I lost confidence in my abilities. I had never before received such terrible (in my mind) grades. Overcome with the sickening feeling that my ideas were too mundane to share, I started doubting my capacity to reason, write, or impress my professors. As a result, I became increasingly embarrassed to talk about my marks, especially with my teachers, who I worried would think poorly of me. By the time finals rolled around, the sense of shame and inadequacy was so intense that I believed I had fooled this longstanding academic institution into allowing me to stay. I was sure I did not belong amongst the creme de la crème. I was a fraud, an imposter.

Fast forward eight, gruelling years of blood, sweat, and tears. Miraculously, I never failed a class, nor was I kicked out. Somehow, I managed to succeed, and even go on to receive my doctorate. Throughout my studies, and especially in graduate school, I learned a few very important truths that I would like to share with perfectionists and struggling university students (especially my humanities majors!) everywhere.

First, it is impossible to write a perfect essay because no one is perfect. Even though your colleagues in the sciences may receive a test score of 100%, it is highly unlikely — I would even go as far as to say impossible — that a person writing an essay could ever receive a perfect score. Humanities professors do not award perfect scores because there is always room for improvement. (Even the most talented writers have editors!!!) Accept that it’s the nature of the beast, and it does not mean you are unintelligent.

Reframe your goals and expectations. If 85% (an A) is the highest grade a professor is likely to award to the best-written paper of the class, getting a B (75%) is not such a terrible grade. It means you met the course requirements and did a fine job. Of course, always strive to submit your best work but put that grade into perspective. I know this can be hard; only after I started grading papers myself did I truly understand that no essay is without flaw (in style, content, form, analysis) because there is always something to learn. The point of writing is not to do so perfectly but rather to rise to the challenge and learn something new from the experience. Even the most renowned thinkers and artists experienced harsh criticism. Einstein was told he had a learning disability; Caravaggio’s patrons refused some of his most famous paintings; even JK Rowling’s manuscripts were once rejected.

Keep in mind that there are so many external factors that go into grading. It’s an art, not a science. Because style preferences are entirely subject, know that your grade may very well hinge on a matter of taste. So, if it’s a stellar grade you are gunning for, you need to write strategically. Think about who is grading your work and how they present themselves in class. Ask yourself, “What’s their brand? What is their specialty? Who are the scholars they admire?” In doing this extra bit of research you will come closer to understanding their personal/political/scholarly biases — key ingredients to writing a paper that your reader will appreciate.

Most importantly, talk about your insecurities with a trusted friend or colleague. Being in university means you are immersed in an exceptionally critical environment. It can be an emotionally draining time, and so it’s important to create a support system.

During my first months of graduate school, I was introduced to the concept of ‘feeling fraudulent,’ also known as Imposter Syndrome. Professors warned us that it might rear it’s ugly head. Sure enough, thoughts of you’re-not-good-enough-or-smart-enough-or-witty-enough-or-well-connected-enough-to-be-here crept back into my mind. Everyone seemed effortlessly well-read and well-spoken. They tossed brilliant ideas round the room as if casually playing a game of intellectual dodgeball, and I was unsure whether I could keep up.

One November afternoon, I was feeling particularly run down, juggling papers, tutorials, presentations, and readings when I spontaneously gave into a bout of rebellion: I took a break from the library to meet up with one of my classmates for an afternoon coffee. Something came over me and I confided in her about how inadequate I had been feeling. Instantly, an overwhelming sense of relief came over me the moment the words left my mouth. To my surprise, she did not judge me at all. Instead, she revealed that she had been feeling the same insecurities. Relieved to know I wasn’t alone, we made a pact. No matter the assignment, we promised to help each other out, listen, and offer support as proofreaders, procurers of late-night junk food, or a shoulder to cry on.

The result was astounding! Suddenly, we both felt less fraudulent. Talking about our fears helped dismantle our anxiety and insecurities. We found strength in numbers and solace in knowing we could count on one another. We started taking more risks with our hypotheses, which made us better scholars and teachers. Being vulnerable with each another not only quashed our feelings of fraudulence, but — and this is the best part — our willingness to support each other spread like wildfire. By the start of Winter term, our entire class had formed an unshakable alliance. We shared our ideas, passions, fears, triumphs, and countless bottles of wine...

Here’s the take away: ‘feeling fraudulent’ is a disease that runs rampant on university campuses. You are not alone; it affects everyone, professors big (tenured) and small (adjuncts) and students, young and old. So, as you begin another academic year, remember that there is no such thing as perfection. If you are still doubting whether you belong there, ask yourself if you are in fact sly enough to fool the many accomplished professors who accepted you into their classes in the first place. I bet they knew exactly what they were doing when they invited you to join their class.

Ultimately, success cannot be measured in A’s earned or in a professor’s praise. It is defined by who you choose to be in the face of adversity. Sometimes that means rolling up your sleeves and working hard, other times it means showing vulnerability and trusting the people around you. Above all, it means accepting that we are all perfectly imperfect.

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