This’ll come up at some point; so, I’ll put it out there now. I struggle with depression and anxiety. I’m fortunate that I have medication that helps me, and that I’m in a place, mentally, that’s allowing me to use the tools in my box to keep those broken parts of my mind in check.
I mention this as preface to what I’ve been thinking about in these early weeks of the year. Like many people with depression, one of the side effects from it is Imposter Syndrome. I have this little voice that tells me, constantly, that one day I’m going to be found to be a fraud.
It’s only been in the past year that I’ve really admitted to myself how present Imposter Syndrome is in my life. It’s just in the past few months I’ve realized how it has kept me silent about something I love: writing.
I won’t attempt to explain the way my mind works in this. Imposter Syndrome has its own logic that makes lots of sense inside the walls of my skull. And, since it sounds so reasonable, I’ve spent a lot of years abiding by its advice. Namely, if people don’t know you write, they won’t ever want to read what you’ve written, and then they’ll never be able to tell you that you’re not a writer. By the same token, if you don’t put work out there into the world, no one can reject it.
As I mentioned, even though I’ve been aware of Imposter Syndrome it’s only been in this past year that I admitted to myself how foolish this logic is. And, from that, decided that it was way past time to stop listening to this particular voice in my head.
This is part of the reason I took up this project. Primarily, it’s a small contribution of hope and light into the world that needs it. But it’s also a means for me to own up, to step bravely into the room and say that this is what I do. This is part of who I am.
Why say all this? Because it’s true and the truth of it, I think, has been nagging at me all week, standing in front of a lot of other thoughts. The part of me that’s tired of hiding behind the mask wants this out in the open. Confession, it feels, is the means to pulling the fangs from the monster.
But it’s also because reading what others have written about this struggle has helped me. This, then, is my way of doing what others have done for me. Perhaps you stumble on this and it helps you fight your own imposter voice. Maybe, I can give someone else a leg up, allow them to get over the wall that is keeping them from being who they are.
Since, in the end, being redeemed means being all that we have been created to be.