I live with this crushing weight many call “Imposter Syndrome,” which is basically the insecurity that no matter how successful I am, I’ll always be afraid it’s a mistake. That I’m just not good enough for this success. Or, according to Wikipedia (stellar reference right there) it is “the psychological pattern in which an individual doubts their accomplishments or talents and has a persistent internalized fear of being exposed as a fraud.”
In short, it’s the fear that I’ll never be good enough and soon, everyone else will see it too.
The painful silver lining to this predicament is that I’m not alone. Most people will have this fear, insecurity, or syndrome at least once in their life. Maybe you, random stranger hopefully reading this, are feeling that now. Or have in the past. Well, you’re not alone.
I’m not sure at what point in my life I gave myself some sort of unspoken challenge. To make myself great. To be successful. To live an exotic, adventurous life. To make my pain and failures into something good. Some sort of dust I can rise from.
I don’t know when I started being so hard on myself. When I found myself overwhelmed by the heavy responsibility on my shoulders.
I’m also not sure when I realized that I did that to myself. No one else gave me this false responsibility.
No one else expects perfection.
No one else judges every single aspect of success in my life.
My mom is so strong. She is not afraid to show emotions, to be vulnerable, and to feel pain. She is also tough, secure, and a force to be reckoned with. (None of these things are mutually exclusive). She has had a hell of a year, from my dad getting sick to this last week when she lost her daddy, she has stood firm in the love of Jesus and her faith that God is good through and through.
I admire my mom. I want to be more like her.
When we lost Gaga, I was good for a while. I firmly believe that he is so happy right now and it’s a joyous thing to know that Gaga gets to spend time with the King, with the God he spent his life serving. I’m so happy for him and I feel so blessed to have known him, been his partner, and learned from him over the years. Continue reading →
Why, oh why, do I make things so difficult? Why do I give myself unnecessary work? Why, when I’m [hypothetically] walking down a path, do I see a turn that has been blocked off with large rocks and think, “hmm, here’s the direction I should go,” rather than continuing straight on the path that’s been lit up for me?
I don’t know about you, but the way I get places, whether it’s college or to a relationship or to a milestone in my relationship with the Lord, is always crooked and more difficult than it should be.
But I make it. And I am under NO delusion that I make it because of my own ability to follow a bath or to not fall or to succeed. The only reason I make it anywhere in life is because God has willed it. Continue reading →
I was recently talking to a friend about being vulnerable. Or, rather, not being vulnerable. It’s no secret that I’m not good at it. I hide my past, my pain, my failures, my shame, and my fears. I hide them until I can make them pretty and polished enough to post on this blog. Until they’re no longer ugly and sensitive, but scarred over and complete with a bow, ready to be presented to anyone who will pay attention.
I was given a challenge by my friend – Next time I write in my journal, share it. With no edits, just raw and vulnerable truth. Continue reading →
I feel like I’m fighting the air itself as it pushes out of my lungs, crushing my chest with the weight of the universe. I’m sweating, crying, yelling with frustration as I shove against a hundred year old tree, willing it to move an inch for me. I’m laying on the floor of the boxing ring. I’m bleeding. I can’t breath. I can’t fight anymore. I’ve lost.
I’ve never won a battle on my own. I’ve never defeated the invisible enemy that renders me immovable. I will never be victorious on my own. I’m not made for solitary victory. I’m destined for failure. Alone, without the gospel and the Lord, I am defeated. Continue reading →