An Impostor

I just finished college. As in received the email yesterday that I got an A on my final paper and an A- for my course grade. It’s already posted and I officially have a transcript stating I’ve completed every last requirement for my Bachelor’s Degree. I can tell you this now because it’s over. I spent the last two weeks since turning in my final paper beating myself up – imagining getting an email from my professor stating that my final paper was garbage, crap, no good and that there was no way she could pass me for the class. I’d have to start all over. My stomach was in knots. I laid awake at night with heartburn and anxiety.

When I got the email with my grade and I realized that I’d done it – was really finished and a college graduate after all of these years – I cried. I was shaking and called my parents to tell them. I was on cloud nine. I still couldn’t figure it out though- how had she passed me? My paper was garbage. She must’ve realized it was my last class and felt sorry for me. Something other than that I had done the work – spent the hours reading, writing, editing for each and every paper. The class didn’t start out great. I got a couple of Cs, a C- on a paper and I thought I was done for. I couldn’t do it. The teacher was too hard, too mean. I looked her up online and read all kinds of reviews about how tough she is – she never gives As. I resigned myself to just muddling through. And here I am done – she handed me 4 As before the class was over and I pulled out the A on the final – somehow.

I am not saying all of this to pat myself on the back. I am saying all of this because I really truly with 98% of my being believed I’d failed. Believed the work I’d done wasn’t good enough. That I didn’t deserve to graduate. Despite every one of my friends and family who knew I was finished with my work congratulating me, I refused to let them celebrate until I knew for good that I’d passed. They all said I was silly, ridiculous even. But in my (perhaps crazy) mind – it made perfect sense. There was no way I’d succeeded. And so it goes. When I run, when I work, when I write, when I take classes. I think about how horrible I am at everything and then credit luck, downhills, and any other thing I can credit other than myself when I do well.

I saw some friends tonight who congratulated me and I said “I can’t believe it!” and they laughed about how for 2 weeks I’d worried myself sick over not passing. We talked about it and wondered “Why do we do that to ourselves?” One friend said “It’s impostor syndrome” and I realized yes that’s me. An impostor. Always convinced that I won’t/haven’t done well. And when I do – convinced it’s because of luck, or niceness or downhills.

And the point is: I imagine I’m not alone. Perhaps we can all commiserate?