Do you ever get that gnawing feeling that you just don’t belong in the space that you’re in? That your achievements are all a product of pure luck, that you’re a complete fraud, and it’s just a matter of time until your classmates, friends, or coworkers figure it out?
Well, the good news is you’re not alone. Perhaps even better news, this feeling has a name.
Imposter Syndrome is what’s explained as a phenomenon in which a person feels as though all of their successes can only be attributed to luck, that they don’t belong in the positions/programs they’re in, and that it’s only a matter of time before the social circles they’re in realize it.
Imposter Syndrome was first researched by psychologists Suzanne Imes and Pauline Rose Clance, and they found that it most frequently exists in high-achieving women, specifically those in academia. Imes and Clance followed a sample of one hundred and fifty successful women from various career fields across the U.S. However, the consensus among most of them was that they “are in the position because their abilities were overestimated” or “earned a spot in the program because their application was mistaken for someone else’s”. One female participant in particular with “two master’s degrees, a PhD., and numerous publications to her credit considered herself unqualified to teach remedial college classes in her field.”
According to Imes and Clance, it all dwindles down to familial patterns. They claim that imposter syndrome sufferers are divided into two groups. The first group are women that grew up alongside a sibling or close family member that was deemed superior to them, primarily in intellect. Although the woman may grow up to believe this is true, she still strives to prove them wrong in all avenues of her life. She may utilize school as a tool to secure validation from her family, which often never comes. A vicious cycle ensues of gaining achievement after achievement, with no confirmation, and the woman begins to wonder whether or not her competence is what got her to where she is, or if a simple mistake allowed her colleagues to miss the flaws her family members have seen in her for her whole life.
Group two is usually this “superior sibling” or family member that group one fell victim to. Their whole lives, they are reminded by close family members and friends of their superiority in every way: looks, intellect, talent, and personality. She is often doted on, and family members frequently recall her brilliance from an early age, specifically the way she developed at a rapid pace. She is constantly reminded of her ability to achieve whatever she wants, and that she can do it with ease. However, she eventually encounters the realization that this isn’t true, whether it’s receiving a low grade on an assignment or experiencing conflict in social settings.
The view she holds of herself, which has been built and maintained by those around her for the majority of her life, are challenged, and she experiences a sense of panic that’s fueled by the anxiety to measure up to her family’s expectations. Maybe her family overestimated her brilliance, and everyone around her secretly knows the truth? It’s when these thoughts occur that imposter syndrome starts to sprout.
Regardless of how we get there, imposter syndrome manifests because of our inability to internalize our successes, and compulsion to negate any external evidence that we just might be brilliant.
As someone that needs to put things on paper to understand them, it’s incredibly comforting to know that this feeling has a title, and is experienced by people from a multitude of backgrounds. I’ve taken a tango with this feeling many a time, especially in the college application process. When you’re in the moment, doing the work, and writing the papers, you don’t really think about how it all looks to someone else. But, when it comes time to put all that work into a deliverable, and show a group of people significantly more successful than you why you deserve a seat at their table, all you can do is wonder how in the world they could possibly consider you as worthy.
Although my high school didn’t have the reputation of being incredibly competitive, it still wasn’t easy to walk into class on Monday morning to find a classmate teary eyed at their desk because they’d gotten a twenty eight on their ACT, and to do everything in my power not to cry too, because I got twenty-three.
I grew up listening to my parents’ friends compliment me on how smart I was, and that my parents must’ve been so proud. As I entered my senior year, which was blanketed with a state of collective panic, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had been deceived all along; that if so-and-so was in a full on breakdown over a twenty eight, that I should probably start retreating to the woods to live my life as a hermit if I scored a twenty-three.
As you can probably tell, I made it past that milestone, and a college did indeed accept me. But, this doesn’t mean that those feelings went away. If anything, I became even more insecure. Upon sitting in a college classroom for a first time, I couldn’t help but ask myself “what am I doing here?”. As all the students fiercely typed on their Macbooks and sipped Earl Grey from fancy glass tumblers, I felt uncertain. Every time I went to speak in class, I’d feel a constricting anxiety, worried that if I said something incorrect I’d look like a total fraud. Even when the professor would validate me or another student would bounce off of what I felt like was a shaky statement, I still worried that I sounded like a complete idiot, and would remain tight lipped for the rest of class, instead choosing to write all my questions down on a piece of paper and ask the professor at a later time, when there weren’t as many witnesses to my humiliation.
The more I experienced things like this, I started to wonder if I had over marketed myself, or even, late at night when the late afternoon caffeine was keeping me up, I’d dream up a narrative in which my application got shuffled into the “ADMIT” by the mistake of an overtired admissions counselor (I’m 99% sure this is the plot of a made-for-tv movie starring some blonde chick from Disney channel. Let me know if you remember the title because I cannot seem to muster it up.).
Either way, imposter syndrome has caused me to question every move I make, and has left me with crippling panic attacks that can only *sometimes* be cured by an intense nap or really good chocolate.
I wish that I could lay out a bunch of clearly designed steps to get over this problem, but the truth of the matter is that I can’t. Self doubt isn’t something that can be cured with a formulaic method–and if Imes and Clance’s subjects are any indication, it’s something that will follow you on and off for your whole life.
However, when thinking about this issue, it made me notice a sort of cultural pattern, albeit a superficial one, that is an easily fixable manifestation of imposter syndrome.
I’ve noticed in social settings, mostly among other women, that we are so hesitant to accept compliments from each other. It’s almost like a game of hot potato; we can’t conceive the notion that someone might notice something positive about us, and that it’s so distinct they had to tell us about it.
When I see someone tell another woman that her hair looks good, or that her presentation in class was well done, she almost compulsively snaps back with something like “oh, I just ran a brush through it really fast” or “seriously? I literally scrambled to do it all last night.”
Maybe those things are true, but one thing that every response is devoid of? Thank you.
This doesn’t concern me because of a lack of politeness, but instead tells me that we aren’t digesting these compliments as true. Rather, we are negating the notion that we did something good to both the admirer and, more importantly, ourselves.
Although some have an aversion to talking to themselves, you can’t deny the power in verbal self-affirmation. As an avid self-talker, I can attest that there’s something powerful that comes with hearing yourself speak, whether it’s feeling the vibrations in your voice or the variation in verbalizing what’s usually internal thought. Either way, saying it out loud holds a special power that allows for the statement to sink in.
What would happen if we were to say thank you? How would our feeling leaving the interaction change? The impact might be small, but even replying with a ‘thank you’ and agreeing that, yes, you look cute as hell, or mastered a focus of study so well that you could share it with your classmates, you’ve internalized a small success, which in and of itself is the opposite of imposter syndrome’s key symptom.
I don’t want to generalize, maybe there are lots of you out there that bathe in compliments, but as someone who doesn’t, and instead nervously laughs or deflects upon receiving them, I ask the question of why we do this? Why are we hesitant to say thank you? Perhaps it’s out of worry of looking like a cocky, self inflated jerk. Or maybe we think that by looking effortlessly together, we’ll appear even more superior, which will mask or cancel out our own creeping self doubt.
Better yet, imagine if we did realize our own brilliance? Perhaps the biggest fear of all is the intensity of the power we’re capable of harnessing if we shatter that glass ceiling.