I Love Feeling Like an Imposter

Or, how giving myself full permission to be "not enough" actually makes it easier to believe that I am, in fact, good enough

Something interesting happened recently, when I announced that I would be producing a paid portion of my love letters for new therapists and graduate students.

First, I got a really lovely response, with multiple folks opting for the monthly subscription, and multiple folks opting for a whole year upfront. Every time I saw a new subscription come through, I’d get a little *ping* of excitement and gratitude, and then… whoosh, a total sense of being an imposter, almost overwhelmingly so.

And then the thoughts like, “who am I to actually ask for money for this shit? For a newsletter about how much I hate hustle culture? It’s basically just ramblings the fall out of my brain onto (digital) paper. Eventually, they’ll realize that what I’m writing is rather garbage, and they’ll tell everyone how stupid it is and not to bother.”

Even as I write this, I am noticing an internal process happening where I’m trying to angle my words and thoughts in a way that demonstrate my authority and ability to communicate effectively on the topic of imposter syndrome. I’m thinking to myself, “what can I write here, to demonstrate that I have something useful to say about imposter syndrome and how to kick it to the curb?”

Sure, I have folks reaching out to me on a consistent basis, telling me that the things I share and the words I write hold some kind of meaning for them—they find what I share thought-provoking, validating, encouraging, or empowering. I’ve actually had folks share that they quit a job, or started a private practice, or cut down their hours, or turned down an opportunity in part because they felt empowered to do so because of what I’ve shared. What a rush! And then, without fail, my reaction turns to, “yeah, but anyone could’ve said this. I’m not that special or unique.”

Truth is, I think we all have moments where we’re confronted by some strong internal sensation of not-good-enough-ness. It is so incredibly normal, that after a while, it almost becomes boring. Like a well-worn path with few surprises. But it keeps happening, over and over, and we fall into inertia because we’re convinced that to push forward despite feeling like an imposter would bring about failure, chaos, or humiliation.

Over time, as I’ve had more of these sensational experiences of feeling less-than or unworthy of people’s praise or affirmation, a strange but wonderful thing has happened. I’ve had to contend with the idea that there is some part of me that is hellbent on upholding these inner judgments. There is some part of me that feels safer, more in control, or more certain of the future when I lean into believing I am unworthy and inadequate. In fact, there is a part of me that feels really good when I reaffirm my own not-enough-ness. Those thoughts and beliefs help me maintain homeostasis when the sensation of actually being enough feels overwhelming, scary, and unfamiliar.

Where this gets confusing and frustrating is when I have competing, external messages bouncing in and out of my brain, things like, “believe in yourself! trust yourself! love yourself! you are competent and good enough! you have skills and knowledge! yOu CaN dO tHe ThInG!”

All well and good, those affirmations are. There is a part of me that knows and believes those things. And yet, the part of me that is sustained by self-doubt and feeling inadequate isn’t going to just…roll over and let this whole positive affirmations bullshit change her mind. She’s gonna want to fight back, to maintain her role in the very intricate and powerful system that she’s part of. She’s got a job to do, and she’s not going to give it up so easily because some goofball part of me shows up with a “I <3 U” balloon and a box of chocolates.

So, I’ve had to ask myself—what, then? Do I just give into this part and judge myself for not being able to get her under control? Do I keep trying to reel her in, hoping that eventually the positive affirmations will get through to her?

Turns out, no, probably not. I’ve tried those methods. Even after a lot of time and self-negotiation, she’s rarely budged an inch, and I still end up feeling shitty about myself and unable to access my inner good-enough-ness.

So recently, I’ve started something new, and preliminary results suggest that it may actually be working.

Enter: existential kink

The concept of existential kink comes from a book of the same name* by Carolyn Elliot, recommended to me by my business coach when, for the fiftieth time, I was lamenting about my money anxiety in private practice and how awful it felt. She suggested that part of me loves to feel this scarcity anxiety, and that I might be well-served by diving into Elliot’s theory on the matter, to see what it brings up.

I recently started this book, and made the intention of diving into it in earnest. It’s helped me see my imposter syndrome, money anxiety, feelings of loneliness, and anger at perceived or real injustices in a whole new light.

That is, it’s helped me really understand that there is a part of me that really feels good when I get all lit up with the shame, embarassment, and self-doubt of being an imposter—and that the way to manage that is not through positive affirmations or trying to act as if my imposter part doesn’t exist, but through the act of embracing this part of myself, and fully allowing my fucked-up “kink” of feeling unworthy and not-enough to exist without shame or judgment.

That is, instead of telling myself that I’m good enough and that I just need to believe it, I’m giving myself permission to lean in fully to the evocative sensation of being unworthy and not-enough. I’m giving myself permission to really love all of the shit it kicks up when I indulge this fucked-up desire.

And when I finally give that part of myself full, unrestricted permission to exist just as she is, and I don’t tell her that she has to shut the hell up or that she should just “trust herself,” suddenly her insistence that I am an unworthy piece of shit just… doesn’t feel so powerful anymore.

To be fair, it’s not a magical process. There is no wand I can wave that turns the unspun hay of my unworthy feelings into a tapestry of self-empowered gold. It’s one of those things that takes time, and a willingness to lean into (and deeply appreciate) the parts of myself that I’ve been directly or indirectly told to shame, reject, or invalidate.

But the more willing I am to experience these things as beautiful (if not fucked up) parts of an integrated whole, the less I feel captured by them, and less power they seem to hold.

And then, as I learn to make peace with and really love the fucked-up parts of myself, I feel less afraid of experiencing those sensations, and more willing to show up in this space and share my words—whether I am actually an imposter or not.

*caveat/disclaimer: this book is sensational (that is, it creates a lot of inner sensations) and will stir up a lot of feelings. Like, a lot. The author has her PhD but is not, as far as I’m aware, a mental health professional. Her theory about the origins of our deepest, darkest shit are based on the idea that as humans, there is a “kinky” part of us that gets off on our most painful experiences—everything from shame, anger, humiliation, anxiety, stress, and yes, even toxic/abusive relationships. For those of us with trauma histories, this may not be the most helpful approach, and so I want to emphasize that you know yourself best, and it’s a good idea to consume this book with discretion. It may not be a helpful or appropriate way of framing experiences of discrimination, violence, or oppression. If Elliot’s way of thinking in this book rubs you the wrong way, I get it, and there’s no reason to push into that area if it feels wrong to do so. As is my general advice for a wide audience with whom I have no personal or professional relationship—take what works and leave the rest.

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Oh hey, you made it all the way down here! Cool. Good to see you’re still with me. This is the part where I lean into feeling like a total imposter and let you know about the weekly newsletter for grad students and new therapists that I’m publishing, available for $7/month. Please know that I will likely be writing this newsletter from a place of total indulgence in my imposter part, and that any actual helpful advice I produce is probably a result of some mistake or fluke on my part 😉