Emperor’s New Clothes: Dealing with Imposter Syndrome
Starting last week I made a goal for myself to write two articles a week on Medium, and as is true with every goal I set for myself, I immediately began self-sabotaging it. First, I went back and reread a post I had shared recently about a student of mine that recently committed suicide. I still couldn’t get through it without sobbing, but I read enough to see it was riddled with errors. So, great I can’t even proofread, yet I think I’m going to write two articles a week on here. And hope that maybe people will even read them.
My next thought was I have nothing to say. When I teach writing to teenagers I get this a lot. I can easily and honestly tell them that they all have something to say. They are unique with situations in their lives that no one else is living, and yet they can see we are all dealing with universal issues. Just speak your truth I tell them. Yet here I find myself feeling as if, not only do I not know how to speak my truth, but more importantly no one will care about my truth. In other words, my inner critic sends me right back to the lunchroom in 7th grade. I feel self-conscious like everyone is noticing my new pimple that sprung up overnight. I’m rethinking my tight-rolled jeans with mismatches scrunchy socks. And don’t even get me started on this disastrous perm with bangs that never stood up despite the amount of Aquanet I sprayed on them. I feel exposed.
Don’t get me wrong, I love to write. I have four novels in the editing stages right now, and I have enjoyed every minute of creating these characters and the worlds they live in. I love the wittiness of their dialog and the absurdity of the situations I’ve placed them in. But I haven’t let anyone else read them (yet). They only exist in my head and on my google drive. No one has looked at them and told me if the emperor is actually wearing clothes, or if he is bald ass naked. And the truth is I’m a little scared to find out.
I guess this is what the author of the quote, ‘dance like no one is watching’ meant. I like to write as if no one is reading. Though that isn’t completely true. I like to write while imagining the perfect reader who completely gets me. She thinks I’m funny and says things like ‘wow, you know I’ve had that thought, but I’ve never said it out loud or put it into words quite like that’. This reader thinks I am a genius, or at least is willing to look past the typos.
Does this reader exist anywhere other than my mind? Who knows. Do we ever truly connect with another person on a soul-ular level? I’m not sure. But I do know one thing: I will never know unless I try. And the same goes for you. If you never speak your truth and put yourself out there, you will never know if anyone else will ever get you. Are you clothing a naked emperor? Are people admiring his finery, when deep down you know it’s all a mirage? Maybe it’s time we all get naked and real (cue the giggling in the back from the 13 year old boys).
I have talked with many successful people about this imposter syndrome. These are people with multiple degrees and abounding brilliance, and yet they say they don’t feel as if they should be doing what they are doing: giving that talk, writing that best-seller, curing that disease. They feel as if one slip will reveal who they really are, and everyone will see that they are just a person after all, no better or worse than the rest of us.
So, maybe the answer is to show our true selves right off the bat. Teaching teenagers will get you there in a hurry. They will see right through you, and call you on it every time. It’s very hard to lie to young adults, at least for me. Instead they want you to be real. We all want this authenticity from ourselves and each other. Even if putting yourself out there feels like the middle school lunchroom all over again, it will be okay. We promise not to tell you your clothes are beautiful when in fact you’re not wearing any, but we also promise to listen to you speak your truth and know that is where the true beauty lies. We don’t need each others’ perfections, just our honesty.
