Impostor Syndrome’s a Real Bitch
When Katie Hawkins-Gaar asked that I come on board as editor to her newsletter, My Sweet Dumb Brain, I felt as honored as I did skeptical.
For starters, professionally speaking, I’m just … not. I’m a stay-at-home mom to a charming, but challenging toddler. I sell vintage clothing on Etsy (read: a hobby that mostly pays for itself). I often fancy myself the unofficial therapist to my friends — and no, I don’t have any credentials whatsoever. I’m just an empathetic listener who sometimes gives solid advice!
When I thought of the person Katie should entrust with producing this meaningful passion project, I imagined someone with a much more impressive resume than my own. Although I was thrilled that she wanted my eyes and my guidance on her essays, I couldn’t help but wonder: why me?
When I graduated high school, I dreamt of living in New York. I saw myself as a woman with an enviable life, independent and cool, writing and editing for magazines, or working her way up the ranks in a publishing house. This, I told myself, was my future.
Enter depression and anxiety during my late teens/early twenties. Although I had always been an exceptional student with promise and talent, the self-sabotaging effects of my mental health derailed the transition from student to working adult in a way I had never expected. Instead of establishing the exciting, fabulous career-driven life I imagined for myself only years before, I went from being a summa cum laude college graduate to an adult with a string of under-achieving and under-stimulating occupations that I found myself struggling to maintain. All because my not-so-sweet, dumb brain told me I didn’t deserve (nor could possibly handle!) a “real job.”
Impostor syndrome has been a very real player in my life’s trajectory thus far. This is not where I’ll talk about regrets or “should” on myself; I’m pretty pleased on how far I’ve come, and with where I’ve landed. I never achieved a career beyond a four-year, part-time gig in online marketing and communications, but I did at least get to feel proud of and challenged by my work — and I was okay with that!
Then, I became a mother. And, in just a few days, I will do so for the second time.
“Motherhood is the most rewarding job I’ve ever had,” countless moms say. “It’s also the hardest.” I’m not about to refute that. The clichéd adages come from a base truth. However, compared to the NYC fantasy life 17-year-old me knew I would have … well, I never saw this stay-at-home-mom, suburban wife existence for myself.
This pregnancy hasn’t been easy for me, mentally speaking. Everyone compliments me on how great I look, that pregnancy suits me, how “glowy” I am. The truth is that my psychological health feels anything but this radiant visage of motherhood I appear to be. Between having to alter my depression and anxiety medications, the heat of summer making outdoor exercise nearly non-existent (a huge part of my holistic well-being), to mothering my smart and spirited 2-year-old daughter through the fog and fatigue of pregnancy (a feat only accomplished thanks to endless hours of Paw Patrol on repeat), I have felt the steady creep of negative thought patterns enter into my psyche. Especially with another child on the horizon, I feel cemented in this idea that this is it. Diapers, playdates, mini-vans, PTA meetings — the next 20 years laid out nicely in a pre-packaged box that says, “American Dream!”
I am grateful and happy for the life I’ve built, despite the bleak picture I’ve painted. Yet, I still struggle with that voice — the one that says I’m not worthy, but then tells me how much potential I wasted, how I could have been something more, someone more than “just a mom.”
I find this to be especially true when considering the responsibility I’ve been given to collaborate on this newsletter. Am I deserving to have my name attached to something created by my wildly successful, inspiring friend? What can I possibly offer that she couldn’t find from another driven and respected colleague? Why should I bother when I already grapple with finding the energy and time to be an attentive wife and mother?
Certainly, I would do anything to help Katie. And I have to trust she asked me to edit this newsletter for a reason. But I’m also doing this as a way to tell my “dumb” brain to shut up and believe in me sometimes. This is an opportunity to embrace that I still have a talent for writing and editing, even if I don’t have an online portfolio or fancy CV; to trust that allowing my kiddo a little extra screen time does not make me “Worst Mom of the Year;” to be patient with myself as I navigate postpartum life after my son arrives; to love who I am and value my strengths in spite of my weaknesses.
I am human, after all.
This essay was first published on October, 2018, in the weekly newsletter, My Sweet Dumb Brain.
