Imposter syndrome. Seems like the diagnose has been at the tip’s of everyone’s tongue this past year.
Now, I won’t lie I have heard it about million times. I see people I know use it on a regular basis, however, I have never bothered to try and understand it on a deep level. Why? For one it felt like the flavor of the week, superficial, and just not deep enough for me to relate to. Also, my ego has never let me believe that my “successes” are not my own. In fact, I soak up a lot of pride in earning every success I have. My issue? My syndrome? Who the Hell am I to talk about it?
“It” being growing up with an extremely rare autoimmune disease, growing up in catastrophe, disability, recently a craniotomy. Not to mention my successes. Graduating college, oh and high school, because my family and friends never imagined I would even complete that step. Success of healing, then breaking again, healing, and then cracking wide open. I am also a female in a leadership role at a major player organization. I am successful. I take pride in my accomplishments, and the biggest success for me? Surviving. I just have never felt like I have any right to speak about my journeys, my pain, my wounds, scar tissue, and ultimately every step I had to take to find certain levels of “success”. How ignorant is that? That I do not have a right to my own story? Who would care? Who has the time?
I have a fear of people believing I am trying to be too big for my britches. You know the phrase? In case you were not raised by a Southern grandmother is means I am afraid that people will think I am conceited. I am afraid that if I tell you my story of living with autoimmune disease for 20 years it won’t be long enough, because it is not as impactful as someone that has lived with it for 21 years. I worked my ass off in my career, but I can’t say for certain I worked any harder than the women before me or even the women right next to me. I am afraid to be judged for having a wild, vivid, painful, but optimistic story to tell, because am I ever go back to is who the hell am I? So in typical fashion I have shaken not stirred imposter syndrome to be uniquely my own. I do fear that I will not be good enough for you. I do not even know you.
So, today I write out loud. Not happy with the post because quite frantically I admire writing, beautiful writing to the point that I believe I will never be that good. I will never be that writer. So, in my own way shape and form I am just posting. No editing, no guardrails. Just jumping. This is me jumping.