A Lesson from Year 6
One week ago, I celebrated my 6 year anniversary of coming out to my parents; a fundamental paradigm shift that forever changed the trajectory of my life. As you may imagine, I enter a deep state of sentimentality and introspection on this day each year. Scouring through old journals and pictures to reminisce on the moments that brought me to this day, I add another year to my counter of pride. I ask myself, “What is 1 lesson I learned this year that makes me proud to have come out all those years ago?” This was my first year out of college and I had more memories than any year before to consider. The question at hand, however, required 1. Anxiety built. Will I be doing a disservice to this past year by selecting just 1? It’s possible my stubbornness to identify a single lesson points to this not being the best way to go about it. Even so, I savor these moments of intense introspection that challenge me and show just how many amazing things I have in my life to be grateful for. Pen hit paper, and my chosen lesson was written.
You are no imposter. You, uniquely you, deserve to be in the room just as much as everyone else.
Let’s break it down. Rewind the clock and I’ll take you along my first trip to a Hell’s Kitchen gay bar with a group of my near, dear, and queer friends. A core desire of mine when moving to New York City was to find a group of fellow LGBTQ people I could connect with. On our continuous journey toward deeper self-understanding, meeting others who can fundamentally understand different aspects of our own individuality is crucial. I was quite fortunate to find an group of kind and lively queer men through work. Season 12 of Rupaul’s drag race was beginning, and I was honored with an invitation to join them at one of their favorite bars to watch. Up until that point I had only ever gone to gay bars a handful of times. Walking in felt like entering a new world. Straight society is checked at the door, and queer culture becomes the norm.
Frankly, it’s jarring. Within this small space lives an environment unlike any other. The part of myself that had been rejected, invalidated, suppressed, and feared is welcomed. Being queer is encouraged! My anxious mind would then kick into overdrive as I scanned the room. The variety of people is unparalleled, each with their own translated sense of pride. Suddenly, I feel like I’m not enough. Look at all these well-adjusted queer people! Was I the only one that had to meditate and take 2 shots to mentally prepare before I even left my front door heading to this? I observe their style: outfits of pastel and sequin contrasted by others’ proud displays of as much skin as possible. Their fabulous and confident outward expression shines as my personal body shame crosses my arms over my chest. I doubt my own pride, fearful that someone else will say it’s not enough. They would call me an imposter. Maybe I didn’t know enough about queer culture, don’t have the same outward confidence others seem to have, wasn’t proud enough, or didn’t understand how it all worked. Was I supposed to have all of those things already to just make it through the door? I had been out for over 5 years, yet I stood there as a gay man virtually paralyzed in angst that I’d be kicked out of a gay bar, for no reason other than my personal feelings of inadequacy. I had imposter syndrome.
My anxiety has always been harshest on my sexuality. Throughout my younger years, living life as a gay man wasn’t a possibility. I would never find happiness and fulfilment in life or heaven after if I chose to “indulge” my temptations. My childhood image of my future was a video of TV static on replay. What kind of life could I possibly live? Entering queer environments brings with it a culmination of all my memories. Feelings of inadequacy, loneliness, and fear are pushed to the forefront of my brain as my hurt younger self reminds me of his presence. For some reason, I feel as though I don’t deserve to stand in the room with everyone else. Simply put, it’s the worst case of imposter syndrome I feel.
My friends probably had no idea my mind was a hurricane while we first settled in at the bar. As the night proceeded, the winds were calming, but the river of my thoughts remained tumultuous and stuck. I felt like I was in a daze half the time, unable to be truly present. Then these two guys walked over and started chatting with me. My automatic response was to be polite and chat back, regardless of how awkward and strange the conversation seemed to be, let alone it was distracting me from watching Drag Race. Then, my friend Dante came up to me and said a simple phrase:
“You know you don’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to, right?”
Suddenly, I was pulled out of my daze. I not only was already participating in the room, but I had a choice to how I could participate as well. I realized I was surrounded by good people who wanted to support me as I learn to navigate this world. I wasn’t an imposter. I belonged here, in the present. The angst and inadequacy were simply feelings floating down the river of my headspace. Because of my friends, the emotions I had difficulty freeing from the mental mud began to flow on a peaceful current once again. That night is now one of my most cherished memories.
Imposter Syndrome (n) : anxiety or self-doubt that results from persistently undervaluing one’s competence and active role in achieving success, while falsely attributing one’s accomplishments to luck or other external forces.
Consider the moments you face day to day that bring that imposter syndrome into your headspace. It could be work, feeling like you don’t know enough to do/deserve the job you have. Maybe it’s dating, when you feel like the person you’re eating dinner with is too good or attractive to be with you. You could possibly be a soloist, someone who feels they must accomplish things on their own and asking for help implies that they’re a failure or fraud. Social media even contributes to these issues, constantly comparing our own experiences against surface representations of others’ lives. When we only showcase our best moments, as many tend to do on social media, we may even feel like an imposter to our own profile. The situations where imposter syndrome can arise are innumerable.
The question stands, how do we accept those feelings of anxiety and inadequacy and not let them run our lives? From the perspective of work, in The Defining Decade by Meg Jay, she comments, “20 somethings who don’t feel anxious and incompetent at work are usually overconfident and underemployed.” She twisted imposter syndrome into a positive, something that can help us remain challenged and motivated. What if this syndrome could be used to learn and find the answers to the questions that originally made us feel inadequate? If anything, I believe it will keep you humble in your journey of becoming a “non imposter.”
On a different note, what are other ways to get through these feelings? Seeing the present, acknowledging the feelings and critically questioning “Does this thought help or hinder me?” This simple step in between stimulus and response could prevent you from reacting in a daze and instead move toward the more fruitful path. Value constructive criticism, it’s alright to mess up. A lesson learned from a mistake is often much more impactful. No one’s perfect, we’re all still figuring it out. Above all else, value honesty. Allow those you’re close with to understand your self-doubts. You will be utterly shocked by the perspective changing support they can provide and the deepened relationship that is created; I can personally vouch for that.
I want to say thank you to my friends: Jack, Dante, Mike, Isaac, and Alexander. I am truly grateful for your welcoming and acceptance. For anyone reading this, my hope is that you can notice your own imposter feelings in the future and work with them, you’ll be surprised by how much you’re capable of. Now get out there, I don’t see any imposters here.
Optimistically,
Jon
