Wilfred sweater (similar)
Sezane skirt
Jonak babies (similar)
Celine sunglasses
Linjer rings (c/o) (similar)
Maris Pearl Co. earrings (similar)
Location: Piazza del Colosseo – Rome, Italy
“We’ll make it work. We always do.”
I used to use those two sentences often. And I said them with confidence. With some notable exceptions – I’m not great at math, but I’m worse at it because I worry about my limited abilities – I’ve always been sure of myself. I don’t know exactly where that sense of certainty comes from, but it’s always there. Give me a challenge and I won’t just overcome it, I’ll exceed expectations.
That changed, a little less than a year ago.
The events leading up to the change were nothing extraordinary. At the urging of my boss, who I trusted and respected, I applied for a new position at work. It would make us peers. To this day, I’m grateful for her lack of ego in this scenario; she recognized my capabilities and saw them as an asset to help us both succeed, nothing more. The position ultimately went to an external candidate with more experience than me, and I contentedly moved on. I liked the job I was doing, I liked my team and while there was more, in theory, that I could contribute, I didn’t feel any particular regret at being passed over.
The position came up again, and I applied a second time. Again, an external candidate was ultimately chosen. But I knew I’d done an excellent interview, leaving nothing on the table, so I could feel good about my efforts and move on. I watched the two people hired into the role I’d apply for struggle mightily and I felt for them. But in the end, it convinced me that I really was happy in my role and didn’t need to rush to move on to something new.
…and then I got a call, seemingly out of the blue, offering me the job. No interview required. I was already next on the shortlist of candidates from the last round of interviews and there was an unexpected temporary vacancy coming up. If I was still interested, I could expect an offer letter shortly. Blindsided, I agreed. After all, it was a temporary assignment. If I hated the job, I could always go back to the one I enjoyed, I told myself.
I remember that day often, when I’m reminding myself that no matter how hard things are, I need to keep moving forward. My temporary role became unofficially permanent in late March. It will be officially permanent later this year. Which suggests that I’m at least accomplishing what I need to accomplish, even if I’m not the best or the fastest. I don’t need to be either of those things. I just need to be capable. Most days, I can convince myself that I am…
…but even a slight breeze can swing the pendulum in the other direction. And on those days, one minor mistake can leave me feeling like an utter failure who should quit immediately, before anyone catches on to their incompetence. After a lifetime of shrugging off praise and just getting on with it, I suddenly need pep talks. “Cee, you’re an accomplished woman who gets hundreds of things right every single day, it’s okay if you missed this one,” a colleague told me a few months ago after listening to me beat myself up over a stupid omission in a technology request.
Another one put it more bluntly. “It sounds like you’re suffering from imposter syndrome.”
Imposter syndrome? Me? It seemed impossible. I was almost insulted by the suggestion. I know how capable I am. And I know I’m the best person for the job… or do I? I realised, as I reeled, trying to sort out how to respond, that I’d just said, “I don’t know if I’m the right person for this job.” To someone who fights to bring me onto project committees way outside my area of expertise, who consistently speaks up for me in my role, because they believe in me. Not only was I offhandedly undermining myself, I was undermining them, and everything they’ve done for me, not out of kindness or respect but because they’re convinced I’m the right person. And I didn’t mean it. What I meant was, “I feel like I’m failing most days and I don’t know why but the easiest thing to do is blame myself.”
That’s imposter syndrome, for me. What I’ve learned, since I realised just how right my colleague was about what’s happening within me, is that I have a tendency towards all the different traits of someone who might suffer from imposter syndrome: this graphic illustrates them perfectly. But mostly, throughout my life, these traits have motivated me to consistently work hard, improve and do well. When I changed jobs, they suddenly triggered feelings of inadequacy that I can’t seem to shake. They abate temporarily, sometimes. But just when I think I’ve turned a corner, I make a minuscule miscalculation and they come racing back.
I question myself constantly. “I’m towing a fine line here,” I told my boss recently, “between trying not to hold things up and trying not to screw them up.” She laughed, but when I retype that now, it’s deeply unfunny. My belief that I can single-handedly derail a project is genuine, but also utterly irrational. It’s imposter syndrome, not me. And it spills over onto everything. It doesn’t just make me question myself, but everyone who perceives me to be competent. I doubt people I should trust, people who show up for me time and again, because if I don’t believe in me, how can they?
I still say, “We’ll make it work.” But I can hear a tremor in my voice now, a silent question about whether the me in we can actually do it.
When we were in Italy, the feeling dissipated completely. I knew we could make anything work, including these photos at the Colosseum. Even though we arrived about half an hour too late, the sun was higher in the sky than was optimal and there was a pile of vomit directly in front of the place I wanted to pose. With a little creativity and a lot of determination, we would get the shots. And that’s exactly what we did. I never feel like an imposter in front of the camera, or behind it.
At work, it’s a different story. I don’t know why, exactly. Maybe because this job still isn’t wholly mine. Maybe because somehow, subconsciously, I believe the decision to pass me over was the right one, or because I allowed being passed over to make me believe I wasn’t good enough. I’m not sure it matters. Now that I know it, I’m hoping I can find a way to change the narrative.
