Dear Imposter Syndrome,
How dare you! You fucking thief. You steal my voice, my pride, and my self-esteem. You sneaky little shit. You put fear and doubt where there should be excitement and confidence. I fucking hate the way you linger over my shoulder in every moment of triumph. You are the chasm between my finger and the send button on every cold email, report, or marketing graphic I create. What is the point of you? You are a worthless manifestation of all that could go wrong. What is the cure? Why are you such a plague on my existence? How did you get here? I want you gone. I want nothing to do with you. To be rid of you–to replace you with grace, confidence, pride in my capabilities would be the emotional awakening I’ve been yearning for. I can sense you even now, telling me I’ll always think I’m not enough. I am enough. I am enough. I am capable. I am confident. I am enough. I am capable. I am confident. I AM ENOUGH.4/5/20
This was a tougher one.
Imposter syndrome is one I’m still dealing with. The only difference is that now it’s more of a chip on my shoulder than a little devil whispering in my ear. When I feel like I can’t do something, I think back to this moment, 9 months ago.
About a month prior, I had begun work with a coach who believed in me, and I allowed this foolish emotion to get in my way. She’d sent me notes on our discussion that opened my eyes to what I was really struggling with when it came to time management, boundaries at home (the mandate to close businesses had just come down, so I was back to working from home), and acknowledging that I was separating my social and responsible personas (more on that later). Coming to terms with all of that sent me into a spiral. I realized I’d been questioning my achievements, upcoming projects, career opportunities, my parenting, my friendships. I wrote this letter to shake free of some of the doubt I carried with me into my business. It was the skirmish I needed. I feel as though I’m halfway through this battle, but the war is yet to come. Imposter syndrome is especially present when I sit down to write. Who will read it? Who wants to listen to what I have to say? Then I think, “Maybe there’s a young girl out there who was criticized to the point of thinking nothing she does is good enough. Maybe there’s a woman out there who thinks that she can’t delve into a new career while raising her kids. Maybe there’s a daughter, wife, and mother out there who just needs to know that she’s not the only one feeling like those hats she has to switch in and out of can be heavy sometimes.”
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Thank you for continuing this journey with me.