Modern Imposter Syndrome wears a different mask than the one of 40 years ago.
Technology and social media have completely changed the way we experience Imposter Syndrome. We have much more control over what people see, making it easy to present only an idealized life. Our outward facing selves can be crafted to reflect perfectly filtered versions of reality. But that only widens the disconnect between our portrayed selves and our actual ones. We end up not giving people a chance to see what's genuine, making it less and less likely to feel appreciated and more and more difficult to avoid Imposter Syndrome. In the past, the only wall between our presented selves and our internal selves was our ability to filter our words and emotions. With social media, this protective wall becomes more of a fortress.
Social media makes it easy for Imposter Syndrome to be self-inflicted. By burying ourselves into the fabrications of the online world, we enter an artificial place where we can never truly reflect our authentic selves. Of course we feel inferior and unappreciated when we consciously portray only half of our selves. We curate to feel special, but instead feel misunderstood.
Growing up in this tech-driven generation, Imposter Syndrome has a disproportionately large role in my life. A fear of being found out is always in the back of my mind, and vulnerability intensifies that feeling. But you grow by doing things that scare you, so my way of being vulnerable is testing my limits. From blogging publicly to working on personal technical projects, I'm outside of my comfort zone. I've never been a first rate writer; I'm not the greatest engineer. I've worked on technical projects in the past, but I've never spearheaded an original idea. Which is why working on PenPal has become more than just a technical challenge. It's become an internal battle between my insecurities and a desire to contribute to the world as an engineer.
After years in the school system, I've become accustomed to the formulaic ease of solving problems with an existing solution. So when it came to brainstorming novel ideas, I was frustrated with my inability to solve problems instantly. Then there was the fear of failure. It's easy to be walked through a problem, because if you don't get it right, there's someone else to blame. However, I'm responsible if my ideas don't work. It's scary to have no scapegoat, to know that a failure is solely the result of your own incompetence. It screams imposter when your idea fails.
But failing is the only way to train creativity. Just like any other skill, creativity is a muscle that needs to be conditioned, and there's no shortcuts. There's just cold, hard failure after failure. However, working on PenPal has helped me realize that failure is not a sentiment to the quality of my work or level of intelligence. Failure doesn't mean I'm an imposter; it means I'm a person. It means I'm a novice who may need more experience with creative endeavors, but failing does not mean I'm a failure. Being a failure is a permanent state; being a novice shows potential for growth.
PenPal isn't my typical project, which is probably why it has taught me so much. At first, I figured it'd be a short term thing, something to dabble in just to say I did. I spoke about it without believing that I could pull it off. It was more of a pipe dream to impress others rather than an honest endeavor. It was Imposter Syndrome at its finest: my insecurities held me back from actually trying to innovate, but my desire to be recognized drove my ambitious words.
However, my partner was relentless. He would mention it often or excitedly bring up a new idea to try. I was sucked into committing to the project before I was ready, but then again, I don't think I would have ever been ready. I've been conditioned to avoid risky endeavors, and I considered this one of them. But my partner was my advocate when I didn't advocate for myself. Now a few months in, I've adopted a new mindset. Classes had taught me to use others as a crutch. A friendly, well-meaning TA would always be there to answer my questions, and I would receive the instant satisfaction of the right answer, but the long term insecurity of feeling reliant on others. With PenPal, there is no safety net. If I can't figure something out, the only option is to think harder. For the first time, I couldn't pass my burden of failure to anyone else. This led to weeks of frustration as I puzzled through idea after idea to realize they were all incorrect. I wasn't used to this.
What PenPal has taught me though is to slow down and appreciate the process. There's merit to working on something that makes your mind churn in endless circles, that makes you struggle before gifting you with the answer. And accepting failure isn't accepting incompetence. It's accepting growth.
I'm a huge proponent of personal projects because they encourage a type of learning that you can't get from the classroom. They force you to struggle in a way that's uncomfortable at first, but rewarding in the long term.
By tackling ambitious projects and allowing myself to fail, I'm hoping to converge my internal and external selves. I want to be as confident internally as I portray myself externally. I'm no longer going to be an imposter.
After years in the school system, I've become accustomed to the formulaic ease of solving problems with an existing solution. So when it came to brainstorming novel ideas, I was frustrated with my inability to solve problems instantly. Then there was the fear of failure. It's easy to be walked through a problem, because if you don't get it right, there's someone else to blame. However, I'm responsible if my ideas don't work. It's scary to have no scapegoat, to know that a failure is solely the result of your own incompetence. It screams imposter when your idea fails.
But failing is the only way to train creativity. Just like any other skill, creativity is a muscle that needs to be conditioned, and there's no shortcuts. There's just cold, hard failure after failure. However, working on PenPal has helped me realize that failure is not a sentiment to the quality of my work or level of intelligence. Failure doesn't mean I'm an imposter; it means I'm a person. It means I'm a novice who may need more experience with creative endeavors, but failing does not mean I'm a failure. Being a failure is a permanent state; being a novice shows potential for growth.
PenPal isn't my typical project, which is probably why it has taught me so much. At first, I figured it'd be a short term thing, something to dabble in just to say I did. I spoke about it without believing that I could pull it off. It was more of a pipe dream to impress others rather than an honest endeavor. It was Imposter Syndrome at its finest: my insecurities held me back from actually trying to innovate, but my desire to be recognized drove my ambitious words.
However, my partner was relentless. He would mention it often or excitedly bring up a new idea to try. I was sucked into committing to the project before I was ready, but then again, I don't think I would have ever been ready. I've been conditioned to avoid risky endeavors, and I considered this one of them. But my partner was my advocate when I didn't advocate for myself. Now a few months in, I've adopted a new mindset. Classes had taught me to use others as a crutch. A friendly, well-meaning TA would always be there to answer my questions, and I would receive the instant satisfaction of the right answer, but the long term insecurity of feeling reliant on others. With PenPal, there is no safety net. If I can't figure something out, the only option is to think harder. For the first time, I couldn't pass my burden of failure to anyone else. This led to weeks of frustration as I puzzled through idea after idea to realize they were all incorrect. I wasn't used to this.
What PenPal has taught me though is to slow down and appreciate the process. There's merit to working on something that makes your mind churn in endless circles, that makes you struggle before gifting you with the answer. And accepting failure isn't accepting incompetence. It's accepting growth.
I'm a huge proponent of personal projects because they encourage a type of learning that you can't get from the classroom. They force you to struggle in a way that's uncomfortable at first, but rewarding in the long term.
By tackling ambitious projects and allowing myself to fail, I'm hoping to converge my internal and external selves. I want to be as confident internally as I portray myself externally. I'm no longer going to be an imposter.
