“Imposter,” They Shouted. “Yes,” I Replied.
Less than 24 hours after the relaunch of my author brand online, I got a notification — someone on YouTube had left a comment. I dropped everything and rushed to see what my new fan wanted to tell me:
“Gross.”
Suddenly, all other achievements vanished. That single word was all I saw. And it had me questioning the validity of my entire journey:
“Am I gross? Some washed-up old-head trying to use programs that kids a quarter my age are milking for cash at an eighth of it? Am I just pretending to be something I’m not?”
To that last point, the answer is probably yes. I’ve never promoted myself as an author before; never taken my personal branding on social media seriously. With so much out there to learn, I feel like I’m throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks.
I am an imposter. But maybe the trick is being OK with that. Maybe there’s a natural discomfort to being outside of my comfort zone, and if I refuse to grow into it, it becomes a barrier. If I endure, on the other hand, the experience toughens me up for greater discomfort once attempting something harder. To become the person I want to be, I may first have to be OK with being an imposter.
Feelings Can Destroy or Drive Progress
After publishing my first book, I struggled to call myself an author. Add in several agent rejection letters and, instead of seeing self-publishing as a win, I embraced the whole affair as an abject failure. I wasn’t even willing to pretend. At that moment, my path was set: I’d never convince people to read a book I published if I couldn’t even fake confidence in my own accomplishment.
Then, I finished my second book. And this one was good. Real good. Like, read-two-times, everyone-cries good. This time, I was going to publish and do it right. I took a job as a waitress so I could focus on my new career, developed a website, and started creating blog posts, short stories, and audio shorts. Then, I took to social media to try my hand at self-promotion.
“Imposter,” the word whispers. Every five seconds, my hand searches for my cell phone to check the apps. I spend hours editing what I expect to be mind-blowing content, and… crickets: no comments, no likes, no views. “This is hopeless! You’ll never stand out!” Even if a post performs well and everything seems find, out of nowhere, a belt tightens around my chest: “This is stupid. You’re wasting your time.”
Even supporters can trigger the feeling. After another YouTube comment calling my video, “Booooring,” I was explaining to Jon, my partner and biggest fan, how the comment wasn’t useful. “‘How am I supposed to implement that feedback?” Jon, ever helpful, took the opportunity to offer suggestions for improvement. To be fair, his insights were worthwhile, but in the moment, all I heard was: “I agree, your video was boring.”
I know trolls will be trolls and that I’m not objectively “boring” or “gross.” But without intervention, these comments can accumulate into a checklist of self-doubt. The more I believe in it, the more readily it sabotages my attempts to succeed at something new. Think about it: The larger of an following I gain, the more likely I’ll encounter haters and trolls along that path. Enduring the discomfort of their comments now prepares me to withstand increasingly uncomfortable feedback the larger my audience gets.
Take Gratitude for Big Gains
Last week, I wrote about how I backed out of an expert-level hike, ready to call myself a failure until I made space for gratitude. Since then, I’ve been trying to apply that lesson to combat imposter syndrome in my writing journey. When the intrusive thoughts would tell me to give up, I would shout, “Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude!” as if volume could push them away.
But I didn’t need to fight the feelings imposter syndrome creates. I needed to listen to them. What are the exact sensations? Anxiety, tension, nausea. Where they show up in my body? In my chest, gut and head. What would you need to feel OK with when these sensations occur? Now that I can recognize the imposter, stripped of its mystery, I can more easily come up with an answer.
So how do we apply gratitude to our imposter syndrome to reduce the symptoms of discomfort? Your exact toolkit will depend on your answers to the questions above, but maybe mine can help you get started. I've been actively paying attention to the ways I successfully make space for gratitude and its impact, and these are the top 6 that work best for me:
Being in nature:
Credit where credit’s due, being in the mountains got me out of my funk. Whether it’s hiking the trails, lounging on the beach, or backyard gardening, no-phone nature time reminds me to slow down, be present, and be grateful to have the time and resources to access to such awesome beauty.
Doing things you're good at:
When feeling like an imposter at something new, I turn to hobbies I’ve nurtured for years: crafting, art, or singing karaoke at full volume in an empty house. Relishing in something I’m already good at reminds me of what I can achieve through effort, and resets my internal metrics to a more positive starting point.
Focusing on health and well-being:
A nice long run always clears my head. I also like setting attainable wellness goals I know I can make, like adding a few more minutes of daily activity, running 0.1 mile further, or swapping desserts for double-chocolate, black bean, high-protein, edible cookie dough (DM me for the deets). Small victories accumulate into more frequent gratitude.
Treating yourself:
I love motivation through treats. I map out runs ending at a sweet shop and create board-game-style goal charts with prizes. Treating myself might also mean allowing myself time to cook an elaborate recipe from scratch, or the opportunity to try an out-of-the-ordinary activity, like rock climbing or blacksmithing. Believing you deserve a treat is a sure path to feeling grateful.
Caring for others:
I have human examples, too, but an experience with my cat, Myrtle, reminded me to include this on the list. Launching my author platform was more work than I expected and I started skipping her playtime to make up for it. My discomfort overshadowed her needs. When I did finally make time to play, I gave her extra time, and her gratitude was so overwhelming it overshadowed my discomfort.
Learning new things:
I had been casually learning guitar for a few years, but recently fell out of practice. After my hike, I decided to pick it back up (and because I love goals) at five times a week for 30 minutes. I’m also learning to do a handstand and plan to take a course in an area where I’m feeling low confidence. Learning is growth by challenging yourself to work through discomfort, and as they say: “practice makes perfect.”
As a student pretending to be a delegate pretending to represent a foreign country in the Hunter College Model UN, my professor would always say: “Fake it ‘til you make it.” So, I did, and being a faker helped me realize how many others were faking it, too. Those whose confidence seemed to come more naturally than mine had just been pretending longer. And it doesn’t mean they don’t still sometimes feel like imposters.
I still worry I may be faking it. Even now, writing these final words, I’m debating this article, the posts accompanying it; my authenticity. “Imposter,” my inner critic says. But the Model UN delegate in me says, “Just do it anyway.”
It may look clumsy, corny, cringe, or even “gross,” but I don’t want to listen to the voice telling me to give up. I chose to walk this path and, throughout the first leg of it, I will be an imposter. But it’s not just a feeling I can “get over.” I either am an imposter and give up because I can’t endure the discomfort, or grit my teeth, swallow my fear and keep driving forward whether I’m an imposter or not.
