best imposter of myself

Imposter syndrome club, at some time or another, has counted us all as members.

"I'm not good enough to be here," we mutter to ourselves about [pick the situation]. "I don't belong. I'm such a fraud, an imposter."

This could be a friend group. A class, a degree program, or a school. A club. A relationship. A team. A job. An opportunity. You name it. Friends could tell us we belong; people wiser than us can affirm that we're up to the challenge ahead of us. People that know us, and love us, can bellow into our faces all day long these assertions.

But still, these positive reinforcements clang off our self-imposed armor of suck like jump shots off the backboard.

How do we step around this self-doubt?

I propose some ways to bypass this imposter syndrome (in other words, these are some ways that've helped me).

Bypass Way #1: Let's face facts. We suck ... at assessing ourselves when it comes to certain things.

This should not be news to you, or to me. Sort of how we can't tell when we have a piece of food stuck between our front teeth, but others can notice right away.

Sometimes, we need to admit that others can offer us a fairer assessment about ourselves than we can. Not just anyone else, but wise people who love us, want us to succeed, and who wish us well. We gotta recognize that their input is more accurate than our self-perception. In other words, we suck at fairly assessing ourselves. We gotta doubt our doubts.

Bypass Way #2: Let's re-frame imitating and pretending. 

What's so wrong with imitating, pretending to be something we're not quite?

Hear me out.

As little kids, we felt zero qualms about imitating, and playing pretend. We pretended we were doctors, musicians, fashion designers, scientists, construction workers, professional athletes, or soldiers. 

What all did you pretend to be? 

Our playgrounds, stages, and imaginations held court to so many instances of us pretending to be someone we weren't. 

You've done this. I have too.

Who hasn't stood in front of a mirror, holding a comb, and pretended to to be a famous singer?

But somewhere along the way, we got this idea that if we're watching and imitating others to a degree, we must be fake. We must be imposters. But we didn't always regard imitating and copying this way. 

I tell you this to remind you that imitating isn't always bad. It's often good and wise. 

A chef learns how to expertly cut vegetables by watching someone else do it first. A carpenter learns how to expertly use equipment by first apprenticing and watching someone else work. We all imitate. You're only really aware that you do this, and don't give much thought to if anyone else does. Imitating doesn't make you an imposter. There's wisdom in following an example.

Bypass Way #3: It's not a one-time fix. Imposter syndrome isn't something we overcome once, and that's that. A mentor taught me to think of battling imposter syndrome as akin to pulling weeds. Weeds never, ever go away for good. But weeds can be uprooted and thrown out to allow good plants to flourish. The more we fight the feeling of being an imposter, the easier the fight gets.

So pretty please, try these bypasses when you feel something like an imposter, a fraud ... when you feel like you don't belong.

Trust the words of loved ones as much (if not more) than you trust your own thoughts.

Remember everyone's long history of imitating, and how much we've grown by copying wise examples in our lives.

And keep after those weeds.

It gets easier.

grace forgets

 

Had a chance some time back to talk with someone named Rory I played basketball with when we were much younger; I had not seen him since then.

Basketball was never quite my sport (more of a baseball and tennis guy myself). I was OK but not great on the basketball court, and I harbored zero illusions that I’d ever progress beyond the basic lay-ups, free throws or jump shots (though I did show potential at drawing fouls).

What was a pleasant yet innocuous conversation took an unexpected turn when Rory began apologizing to me for the time many, many years ago when, out of frustration, he heaved a basketball at me during practice.

You know those mistakes you make, where if you ever get a chance to say sorry to a person you wronged, you plan to apologize (no matter how long after the fact it is)? I was hearing one of those apologies. He profusely expressed his remorse, and said that he now coaches young kids playing basketball, and that he always shares this very story with them when he discusses showing respect on the court, and being a team player.

Here’s the thing: I absolutely remember nothing of this ever happening.

I don’t doubt that Rory’s telling the truth. It’s not even one of those events I forgot, but then remember once it’s brought up. I just plain do not recall a bit of this.

So I’m grateful Rory apologized for something that so clearly anguished him for so long. But I also wish he could have known before apologizing just how much I didn't remember a bit of it.

In all our perpetual, crippling ways in which we critique ourselves, we could stand to reflect on this reminder: people are rarely as critical or as exacting on us as we are on ourselves. We quite naturally zoom in on our perceived flaws. We replay them over and over and over and over and over again. We claw our emotions in self-loathing over something we said that we thought was wrong or awkward. We can too often believe that everyone remembers and replays our self-perceived worst moments as vividly and as often as we do.

But they do not.

It is healthy to apologize for when we’ve wronged others. We could benefit from extending the same grace of healthy forgetfulness to ourselves. Doing this doesn’t feel as natural, but it is more like reality. It’s a relief to eventually truly realize that other people just aren’t watching us in a sort of nitpicky, hyper-critical, waiting-for-us-to-mess-up kind of way.

I remember Rory as a very good basketball player, a friend from scouting, and a decent guy, teammate and classmate. A moment that was a tsunami of regret from his vantage point … was absolutely nothing from my vantage point. It’s a helpful story he shares with his players. I do hope he also shares that he got to apologize to me, and that I remember absolutely nothing of it.

There’s much grace in learning to see ourselves as graciously, and as forgetfully, as others do.