Do they realise I actually suck? (Or, living with imposter syndrome)

This week, I was granted a writer's residency. I am ecstatic—I also feel like a total fraud.

Earlier this week, I received news that I’ve been granted the WestWords-Varuna emerging writers' residency. In September, I’ll spend six days at the gorgeous, scenic Varuna Writing House, working on my novel with the help of a mentor. When I got the call, I was so overcome with joy that my legs could barely hold me, and I had to collapse onto the sofa—something I assumed only happens in the movies.

For 24 hours I was walking on air. Then, imposter syndrome set in.

I’m still excited, and grateful, and aware of how lucky I am. It’s just that my brain focussing heavily on the luck part and not so much on the skill part.

Imposter syndrome is that irky feeling that makes you feel unworthy, like you’re less deserving of your success than everyone else in the room. When you have imposter syndrome, you might feel like you’ve tricked everyone into believing that you’re compentant, talented, even remarkable—and it’s only a matter of time before they all realise that you’re a fraud.

It's something I mull over from time to time. I’ll sit and wonder if it’s something I might be dealing with—then quickly conclude that I’m not successful enough to suffer from imposter syndrome.

After a life of writing, I’ve started trying in the last year. Really trying. Always the novelist, I’ve been working on my skills as a writer of short stories, poetry, and personal essays. I’ve been submitting my work to journals and magazines, creating and selling zines, and applying for fellowships and residencies.

And it’s been paying off. Earlier this year, I got a place in the WestWords Academy. A short story of mine is going to be published in a magazine in August. Now, with this residency at Varuna Writing House, I think it’s safe to say I’ve seen some success as a writer … Even right now, that little voice in my head is saying, ‘Really? Have you? Does any of it really count?’

Photo by Chris Yang on Unsplash

I worry that someone will read this and decide I’m bragging, or that I don’t appreciate what I’ve achieved. I also worry that someone will read this and laugh in derision because I’m not successful enough to have imposter syndrome. See? It’s at work right now.

According to Psychology Today, personality traits that put one at risk for imposter syndrome include self-efficacy, perfectionism, and neuroticism. Sounds like a writer to me. It also claims that competitive environments are a contributor—and what is the publishing industry if not that? We writers and creatives are prime candidates for this syndrome. As those rejection emails come pouring in, it seems like all your peers are posting on Instagram about their next publication/achievement/accolade at the same time. This is obviously toxic comparison and distorted thinking (your friends probably aren’t posting every rejection and failure), and most of us know that. But it’s still easy to take each of your successes in your stride and rush on to the next Thing You Have Not Achieved.

I’ve had writer’s block all week. The new social media, Threads, launched a few days ago, so I’ve been spending a lot of my time there. I’ve been doing everything but writing.  It’s not that I don’t have ideas. I’m usually overflowing with ideas, and I’m so grateful for that, but at times like this, it feels like a tease. I have the potential to be “prolific”, and yet, I am not. And I know it all boils down to my perfectionism, my fear of failure and success, and above all else, my imposter syndrome. Whenever I finish something I’m proud of, I’m sure that I’ve written my last good thing, ever. And I’m always positive that my next piece of writing will be what reveals that I’m untalented, unremarkable: a fraud, all along.

It's a lot of gravity to put on a single piece of writing.

Photo by Elisa Ventur on Unsplash

In my reading about imposter syndrome, I came across something that you may have seen: a personal anecdote from Neil Gaiman that sums up imposter syndrome and turns it on its head at the same time:

Some years ago, I was lucky enough [to be] invited to a gathering of great and good people: artists and scientists, writers and discoverers of things.  And I felt that at any moment they would realise that I didn’t qualify to be there, among these people who had really done things.

On my second or third night there, I was standing at the back of the hall, while a musical entertainment happened, and I started talking to a very nice, polite, elderly gentleman about several things, including our shared first name. And then he pointed to the hall of people, and said words to the effect of, “I just look at all these people, and I think, what the heck am I doing here? They’ve made amazing things. I just went where I was sent.”

And I said, “Yes. But you were the first man on the moon. I think that counts for something.”

Gaiman goes on to say that knowing that Neil Armstrong felt like an imposter made him feel better, and that “maybe there aren’t any grown-ups, only people who had worked hard and also got lucky and were slightly out of their depth”.

That makes me feel better, too. For a moment. But then I decide that the two Neils were wrong to feel like imposters, but I’m not. And so it goes.

It’s an interesting problem. External reassurance and praise may be the ticket to help overcome self-doubt, but with imposter syndrome, it can just make it worse (“Oh, no, I’ve fooled them too!”). Self-esteem exercises can exacerbate matters as well. Throwing yourself into the work can help, until it leads to success, and we’re back to imposter syndrome. So, what’s the answer?

I think I’ve established by now that I don’t feel qualified to give any answers. I don’t have the answers. All we can do is keep working on our craft through the feelings of fraud. As for me, I’m going to try and keep the art the centre of my everything, like it was before I started chasing publication and accolades. Before I really started chasing my dream.

But, you know, the very fact that I am chasing my dream makes me think that, on some level, I do feel deserving, and worthy, and competent, and talented. That’s interesting, isn’t it?