Imposter Syndrome

 The definition of “Imposter Syndrome” from Oxford Languages is

“The persistent inability to believe that one's success is deserved or has been legitimately achieved as a result of one's own efforts or skills.”

This is followed by my author photo.

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate every compliment I receive from readers and other authors. I love speaking at conferences and sharing my knowledge; if I was born to do anything, it was to be a teacher. I will never refuse a request for advice, or deny a blurb to a friend.

I also cannot help but wonder, “Why are they asking me?”

This is not unique to my writing life. As a musician I always lived in fear of my limitations becoming exposed publicly. It took several months at my first “real” job as a network administrator before I could leave at the end of each workday without quietly mouthing, “Fooled them again.”

It’s not like I’m an anxiety-riddled rodent who gobbles Xanax like they were M&Ms. (Not that M&Ms aren’t delicious.) Nor do I lack confidence altogether. I look forward to opportunities to speak in front of strangers, in part because I have seen a lot of people who are so bad at it you can sense the audience’s discomfort. (Or disgust over having their time wasted.) I confess, it is not uncommon for me to listen to a speaker and think, “Step away from the podium/dais/stage. I can do better off the top of my head.”

So I do have areas of confidence. (Arrogance?)

So what’s my problem with writing?

I think a lot of it stems from having interacted with those I consider to be my betters. I read books by authors whose writing I aspire to and am often floored by the fluidity of their language as well as their abilities to craft unique voices. (I’m not naming names, as I would inevitably leave someone out.) I don’t see any of the doubt, re-writing, and editing that went into it; the books strike me as direct pipelines from the author’s imagination to mine.

Then I look at my process. It’s well defined and I have confidence that it works for me, but I always feel like there should be

More nuance to my plots.

More dimensions to my characters.

A more unique voice.

More descriptive language.

Tighter writing.

Better dialog.

A stronger ending.

I could go on, but I’m starting to jones for some M&Ms.

It is not unusual for someone to compliment my knowledge of craft, or of my genres. I am appreciative of, and grateful for, the praise. I am also painfully aware of how much I don’t know. If I am at a conference or talking with friends, or even reading Facebook posts, and come across an author or book people speak highly of, my first thought is often I should have known about that.

That doesn’t mean I always follow up; no one can know everything. The residue of being raised by two perfectionists is I am always aware of my own imperfections. I understand no one is perfect, but it still breaks my balls that I am not, even almost sixty-eight years along the road.

I try to accept all compliments in the spirit in which they are intended, but cannot help but think of things the speaker must have overlooked, or chose not to comment on to preserve my feelings. I am often uncomfortable when I am too effusively praised, because, no offense, I know better.

Imposter Syndrome is not uncommon, and I suspect it is found more often in people with a certain amount of ability, as they have something that might be worth impersonating. (No one has Imposter Syndrome because they think they are better than they are.)

I am also aware that people who are knowledgeable in a field are also the most acutely aware of what they do not know. I get that. It helps. But after panels or public events that go well, one thought is still most likely to run through my mind:

Fooled them again.