Imposter Syndrome Unraveled

By Deborah Blackwell

In the hours before dawn, while the cat lies heavy on my legs and Sir Husband’s breath keeps its quiet rhythm, I’m busy—writing a blog post, pondering book edits, answering emails, wondering if my rapid heartbeat is stress, and most importantly, trying to figure out how to live my best life. Eventually, I close my eyes and drift into sleep in comfortable discomfort…nothing accomplished, nothing gained, just a busy mind in a tired body.

What happens when life carries you away from your dreams?

In my case, the answer could be: “What I did on my summer vacation.” I got a job, got COVID and bonus rebound, had a POTS (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, aka Long COVID) relapse, learned my son had cancer (after emergency surgery, he’s going to be fine), attended to my mother on the brink of death (again), lost a car, and bought a car, all the while ensuring my grey hair stayed colored, I met my deadlines, looked awake in Zoom meetings, and took my vitamins. Whew. 

My summer represents most of my life. While managing my trials and tribs, I give others my heart, soul, time, and energy. Some genuinely accept and appreciate my support; some discard my efforts.

So, the real question is, what happens when life carries you away from yourself?

I often feel like an imposter—to my passion, purpose, and dreams. As the clock ticks and the years pass, I’ve done what I thought I had to because I’m a people-pleasing perfectionist—two of the four P’s of imposter syndrome. (And I’m good at it. No impostering there.) But the other two P’s create the internal gnaw: paralysis and procrastination. I’m not paralyzed to do what I have to do to manage my daily life—but I seem to be when it comes to what I want to do.  

If I were truly qualified to achieve my dreams, I would be doing it. Right? It’s not that I don’t feel worthy or talented; I feel obligated to everything else. Plus, I don’t believe my passion, purpose, and dreams can pay the bills or that I have the energy to do what it takes to get there. I fear failure…or, worse, success—imposter syndrome at its finest.

At a recent check-up, my doctor told me, “Everyone feels like an imposter; every one of my patients, especially here. We work at Harvard. How can we not?” She’s right. I know plenty of self-labeled “imposters.” We’re not an elite group: my husband, my boss, my mentor, maybe even her. But imposter syndrome at work is one thing. The deep-down, nagging feeling that I’m keeping myself from myself? That’s huge.

I could say something corny like, “Each breath is a gift. Life itself is a gift. I know how lucky I am.” I do my best to practice gratitude, live in the present moment, appreciate the beautiful things, and, for the most part, I’m not pretending. But—there’s still that big, fat “but”—what about the rest?

Common sense says we’re never going to get it all done. Never. Life is a ball in motion; some of us can roll the ball faster and farther than others. But that doesn’t mean we’re not moving the ball, so that must count for something.

So, aside from a lottery win (which can’t take away chronic health issues, cancer, or even death), to break imposter status, do I surrender people-pleasing perfectionism, remind myself I’m human, celebrate my wins, and cultivate self-compassion? Or, like a few of my “imposter” friends—keep it bottled up, take meds, and stay busy and too tired to care?

How about I reframe it all together.

Maybe this is my best life. Maybe I’m not an imposter at all. Maybe life is carrying me along as myself. It's profound, but yet not complicated. It’s simply being alive.