My grandmother hated actors. Well, not as people, but the respect and admiration paid to those she felt were “fakers.” They portrayed heroes but rarely did anything heroic. Now, I love expressive performance and acting. I see the art in it. What has grandma’s admonishment become in my mind? An echoing statement and challenge at myself as to whether I’m a fake or doing something.
This imposter syndrome, this vile thing we do to ourselves is probably not your SELF doing it, but a part. I believe our interior lives are made up of a family. Some are imago, images of people in our lives, and others are selves frozen in time and trauma at the exact emotional maturity of an incident or series of incidents.
When I feel and hear these voices in me, I interrogate them gently as one would talk to a child, until the voice or feeling is a little more clear. Then, oh wow, oh wow, I might see this depersonalization with clarity, the core me, a curious and present person is not the origin of a fear arising from childhood. I can speak to it, acknowledge their reasons for being afraid. I can demonstrate support and love and inform that part, “Hey, I’m getting us out of here.”
I pray to myself that my imposter feelings remain only in those places where I intend to play a part and not in my love.
Be well, my lovies,