a person who pretends to be someone else in order to deceive others, especially for fraudulent gain.
The imposter syndrome is a psychological term referring to a pattern of behavior where people doubt their accomplishments and have a persistent, often internalized fear of being exposed as a fraud.
Nothing in the world shakes me up quite the way being a leader does. It’s not a fear of public speaking, it’s not about the mental and emotional weight of it. It’s a fear of being an inadequate faker.
I’ve found myself in leadership positions at so many points in my life – most recently, as a yoga teacher, but also as a mom, at church, and in so many of my employment opportunities in the past. And I’ve been told more times that I can recount that I’m made for this, that I have a gift for this. I’ve been assured time and time again of my intelligence and affirmed in my calling. Someone even prophesied over me about it.
But nothing quite silences the voice that says otherwise.
There’s a voice that just hangs out in my chest that tells me I’m halfassing it all, that I’m a big ol’phoney, a fake, a fraud. It reminds me of all the reasons I’m unqualified to lead – in class and at home. And I want to hide, feeling so damn unworthy of the crowns I’ve been given.
It sucks. A lot.
My anxiety just feeds on it. And to be totally honest, I think I know why it’s there.
I used to lie. A lot. And for no good reason. I was just a kid, but I was old enough for it to mess up my relationships when it all blew up in my face. The shame I felt in that season is unmatched in my personal history. It was devastating.
My mind always turns to that season when people wonder aloud why I just put everything out there. I boast in my weaknesses, because Christ says I can. And I’d rather have it all out there and look like an idiot that Jesus is just so mighty to save, than go through the destruction that I inflicted on my own life back then.
So I think the devil likes to play to that, threatening and teasing me with the idea of being busted and shamed, even if there’s nothing to bust or shame. The fear of it is enough to rob me of my joy and peace and purpose.
And, guys. I want to be done with it. I don’t want to feel like this – I mean, honestly, who does? But I don’t expect it to go anywhere any time soon. I know God can, but even if He never took it from me, I’ll still here here, just confessing it and pointing to Him shouting at the top of my lungs : “Greater is He that is in me!”