Steppingstones to the self that expects better things

When will I outgrow it? My susceptibility to the taunts of my old friend, impostor syndrome?

I think I first heard it at primary school, when my teachers derided me because my mom could not pay my school fees. How dared I sit and learn so comfortably when I was taking advantage of the school’s generosity? The fact is, I was not comfortable. It became more acute at church camps, when girls my age swam in cute, colorful, fashionable swimsuits while they openly laughed at my church charity, hand-me-down, outdated swimsuits. And of course there was high school, one of the cruelest places to carry your books in a plastic bag or go around in high heels without tips because you did not have money for school shoes. By the time adulthood with its merciless demands hit, the taunts were so ingrained that it was easier to capitulate than to argue. I am low, I don’t belong here, what was I thinking?

What many people call impostor syndrome has, for me, much deeper roots. It was never just a feeling of not being good enough; it was a lesson, taught early and reinforced often, that I didn’t belong.

That voice is brutal and sly, but there are ways to recognize her malicious shadow. It starts with a feeling of distance between the perceived better person and me. That person feels so high, that connection appears unattainable, and my own lowliness is reinforced like a concrete floor. This is no fault of the “better” person; it is just a cruel result of society’s hierarchy. This sense of isolation quickly leads to confusion, followed by sadness and loss. The deflated feeling of having lost before you even try, leaving your hands limp and your brain deprived of oxygen. This, of course, leads to anger and frustration that you turn on yourself: why did you even think you could compete on this level? And finally, you pronounce judgment on yourself: you are out of your depth, you will fail, and following this, your finely tuned survival kicks in and tells you, you better not even try and at least get away with some dignity.

For years I believed the voice. I let it decide what I could attempt and where I dared to stand. Then something unexpected happened. Long before I believed I belonged in those rooms, God had already declared that I belonged to Him. I kept saying yes anyway.

Staying in the game has its rewards. Keeping at it, even though your nervous system screams to run, can open a small window of time, where you can begin to separate the truth from the lies. This was true for me; associating with people that I perceive as higher led me to realize that all humans are the same. The basic difference is that some learn to expect good outcomes while others are used to negative ones. Persevering in studies taught me that almost anyone can achieve the highest level of education, given the right conditions and resources. And saying yes to jobs that require much learning and adaptation will only grow me and position me for the next situation where I will feel like I don’t belong.

What I am learning is that this kind of staying takes time and effort. This is true for everyone, but some people are willing to stay long enough because they assume they will eventually belong, while others give up too early to avoid rejection and failure.

What helps me to stay when my very instinct is to run for the hills? My constant awareness of the loving presence of my Father who provided the hand-me-down swimsuit, the warm smiles of the people who are proud of me, even for my smallest achievements, and intentionally remembering all the places I once perceived as too high for me, that have now become stepping stones to a self that expects better things.

There is a deeper truth underneath all of this: belonging is received before it is felt. God named me His before the world ever had the chance to. My identity was never something I had to earn; it was given to me already, in Christ. That is what it means to live loved.