Embracing Vulnerability
The imposter syndrome is a massive set of bricks I carry in my green Michael Kors bag. For those of you who are unfamiliar, the term refers to the fear of being found out as a fraud despite actually being very successful. This phenomenon is most common in high-achieving women. It surfaces like foam forming at the top of a freshly poured glass of beer. During the handful of times, it's appeared, it has always been when I'm on the cusp of something beautiful.
One of the more memorable moments of this feeling was after I had received an email from a medical conference accepting my abstract for oral presentation. I felt excitement and pride followed immediately by nauseating stomach pangs, sweat, and a lump in my throat I couldn't swallow. Someone looking at me at this moment would have thought I was in mourning. All I was missing was a black lace veil. What was my problem? Thoughts were circling in my head. Maybe I couldn't go up in front of a crowd of clinicians and talk about something I had been working on for two years. What if they asked me questions I could not answer? What if I forgot my words? What if I used the wrong words…in front of doctors [SCREAMS]? What if I slipped on the way up to the platform and face-planted into the podium? Maybe I can get someone else on my team to present it in my place. You laugh, but these are actual scenarios and thoughts that ran through my head.
In the past year, words of encouragement from several people and a few chance encounters lit a fire under me to go back into creative writing. I had given it up after college for a more practical career and pushed the little artist in me down deep in a dark place that I decided not to explore. She was sad down there, just waiting to come out and play. Recently, I began to let her out, bit by bit, through poetry—my original art form.
Fast forward to the first day of 2018 when, following lively text exchanges with my friend from high school about our new year's resolutions, an idea popped into my head about channeling my writing through a blog. As a joint venture, we both wanted to do something to inspire people to learn to live from a place of abundance—something both of us had been working through for a while.
The excitement of starting this new chapter was moving, but also humbling because as soon as I began to write my first post, I could feel myself stalling. I followed my emotions like they were a bouncing icon on a screensaver—off the upper corner walls and back down again. It was always too soon to post it—I hadn't checked my grammar; it needed ‘something more;' what if someone who is a great writer reads it and thinks I'm a terrible writer? Finally, I gave myself a deadline, posted it and sent it to a few people for their thoughts—a sort of soft launch. The people I sent it to who read it loved it, and there are several takeaways from the feedback I got that I’d like to share.
First, I had to remember that the original intent of the blog was two-fold: to hone my craft as a writer, a sort of catharsis, and to inspire people to approach the way they live from a full heart. I don’t know if the latter will happen, but I will keep writing regardless. Secondly, I learned from my first post that I was still not embracing true vulnerability. Although I stand by what I wrote and it may be helpful to some people, it didn’t show anyone the type of writer I am aspiring to be—it read more like the research papers I have been writing the better part of my life. I wrote it this way because of the good ol’ imposter syndrome. I could hide behind something that’s easy for me because it doesn't force me to grow into someone new. Even though I had been making the physical moves to write, for some reason I was still listening to my ego telling me I am not a writer. My ego was scared of being criticized, of putting my life on display—both my failures and successes. So, I opted for the safe route, but I know the kind of person I have become, the person I am now through perpetual self-awareness. The things I fear are the exact things to which I leap.
What I am learning from this experience is that this and the process of preparing for and completing my oral presentations are the same. Imposter syndrome is just a scientific term for your ego talking smack. Yes, your ego will break its neck trying to convince you of lies. Those circling thoughts in both scenarios were my ego trying to protect me from unknown things—it was my first time public speaking, and it is the first time I'm writing a blog. Now, these are no longer new experiences. I braved the stage without bruising my body or my ego, but even if I had, I would have been proud of the process because I went through with it with a full heart. I put my personality into the presentation, and people laughed. Several people came up to me after my talk. A nurse I worked with said, “I could never do what you just did, you were amazing!” A clinician from another hospital asked if we could collaborate on a project together and the most memorable person who approached me offered me a job. Seriously, this happened right in front of my medical unit director.
I am grateful for these experiences because they have taught me to embrace vulnerability. Public speaking ranks high on the list of fears in the US for this very reason. It requires that you show yourself, and what you know and you have nowhere to hide. Publicly writing exposes you, and, not surprisingly, it's the same for relationships. There is a direct link between the degree to which you connect and relate to other people and how vulnerable you're willing to be in someone's presence. I certainly don't find it easy, but when I am, it's so rewarding. I love when I can look into someone's eyes and tell them my truth regardless of how I think they will react and I love it when someone can do the same when facing me.
This post is me facing you; showing you who I am.