In the past, and even sometimes now, I’ve struggled with imposter syndrome.
This is something women in particular seem to experience with some frequency: the sense that we don’t belong where we are, that we haven’t done enough to earn our place (wherever that place may be), that one day everyone will find out what we already know, which is that we’re somehow not enough.
Imposter syndrome can, at times, work as a mighty motivator. I can say that it has often pushed me to try harder, do more, be better than I likely needed to be—I feel compelled to show that I belong. But it can also be devastating: it causes us to second-guess ourselves, to fall silent when we should speak, to talk ourselves out of opportunities and ideas.
As I’ve grown over the years, I’ve grown more comfortable in myself. I struggle with imposter syndrome less. I believe that God has placed me where I am and that I belong there, even if I don’t always feel comfortable. I’ve accepted that my ideas and approaches have worth. God’s love is a large part of this, and the support of people that God has placed in my life is a part of this—and practice is a part of this.
It has had a significant impact on my spiritual life in ways that have surprised me.
When I say practice, what I mean is something like “act as though…until you make it.” Those of us with imposter syndrome are generally faced with a choice: we go with what we feel is true about ourselves, or we act as though it’s not. For me, that meant when I didn’t feel I belonged in a room—when my brain said shut up! leave! stay quiet! your idea is dumb!—I decided to act as though I belonged anyway. Instead of shutting up, I stayed; instead of staying quiet, I spoke; instead of believing my idea was dumb, I shared it as though I believed in it.
And what I found was that I did belong.
Staying in the room and finding that no one seemed to expect otherwise changed my thinking. Speaking up and having my ideas received warmly gave me comfort. Over time, my practice of pretending as if I belonged transformed into belonging.
And we can do this, as well when, it comes to living our walk with Christ.
As believers, we know that we ought to take our thoughts captive: our minds tell us much that is untrue. There is always darkness whispering at our backs. We wake up some days feeling very much unloved, very much unforgiven, as though God is very much not present, as though He is not overseeing affairs.
We can’t always talk our intellectualize ourselves into believing what we know to be true. We can’t always will it either. And so in these moments, I have found it helpful to say: well, regardless of whatever I am feeling in this morning, I know what is true and the Holy Spirit in me affirms it, so I might as well act as though it is.
On days I feel unloved, I ask myself: what would I do, how would I respond, if I felt 150% unconditionally loved and pursued by God in this moment? On days I feel unforgiven, I ask myself: what would I be thinking if I felt completely forgiven? If I’m struggling today to believe God is paying attention, how does my behavior change when I act as though I’m certain He is?
This is a way of practicing what I know to be true, rather than letting my feelings or circumstances dictate my behavior. It is also a way of ingraining in muscle memory—perhaps spiritual memory—what reality actually is. To behave in accordance with what is real, rather than to let my faulty insecurities dictate reality for me, aligns me with who God is and how He wants me to behave.
I’ll close with a funny story.
One of my struggles with imposter has meant, historically, that in rooms of people I perceive to be somehow superior to me, I often fall silent. I used to worry I would say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, look like an idiot. Eventually, in according with my “act as though” practice, I started behaving in those rooms the way I imagined I would if I belonged: I went out of my way to introduce myself and strike up conversations. I sought to make people feel welcome. I joked. I determined that not every awkward silence or gap in the conversation was my fault. Gradually, the feeling of inferiority and not-belonging faded.
Recently, my husband and I had to attend a dinner hosted by an organization for which he serves on the board. I went and had a fabulous time: spent the night laughing with the guests at our table and getting to know them, got hugs from some of the folks who knew my husband, walked up to some of the interesting speakers and introduced myself.
I didn’t think anything of it. But my husband eyed me as we walked out the door. “You’ve really blossomed,” he said. “Five years ago and you’d have say there waiting for me to lead the conversation—and tonight I had to go find you to drag you out!”
We become, sometimes, who we practice in order to be.
So perhaps it might be helpful, if you are in a season of struggle or doubt, to act as though. You’re not lying to yourself, or trying to be something you’re not. You’re simply recognizing that the way you perceive yourself and reality might not be accurate, and acting in accordance with what you know God’s truth to be.
You might be surprised by the results, and how you transform. Sometimes, capturing our thoughts for Christ means living by the ones that we know align with who He is, and who we are. Everything else, we can feel free to disregard.
Samaritan's Song 