It’s ironic how irrational and destructive the ego’s protective mechanisms are. The fear of being criticized or even rejected by others is so powerful that we prefer to criticize and reject ourselves on a daily basis. Funny enough, we endure it much better, we may even be used to it.
For some people (I include myself here), this excessive self-criticism manifests as impostor syndrome. Regularly (be it at work, in college or in private life), the question appears, when the moment of their fraud being exposed will arrive. What fraud? The fraud that makes everyone think they’re actually capable of something. The camouflage cape that they wear to deceive the people around them about their existential irrelevance. It fits well, snuggles protectively against the body — and efficiently conceals the disappointment hiding underneath.
Others (I’m more than familiar with this, too) don’t even get into the situation where they could develop impostor syndrome, because they’ve already put the brakes on themselves two steps beforehand. The conviction of their own shortcomings and deficiencies is huge, which takes the wind out of their sails when it comes to actively pursuing their goal. And so, every day, they remain in the comfort zone of making themselves small, hidden under the mask of modesty.
They are so used to stabbing themselves that they mistakenly perceive the pain as part of their identity. But the pain is the creativity, the capability and their true value, which they puncture in their early embryonic stage with a dagger named self-criticism and thus kill before those traits may blossom. Now, some might argue that most people who identify with this mindset are not in fact insecure, but simply lazy. That may be, but I think it is unlikely. Laziness is just as much an excuse for fear of rejection and failing.
Why does one’s personal rejection hurt less than the idea of having to experience it from the outside? I have a problem with this mentality. And it’s not just about me. Even though I’m describing these destructive behavior patterns from my own perspective and experience, I recognize them in my environment, exclusively among very smart people with huge potential, who are also often female.
So here’s my plea: Bury the impostor syndrome! The inner gremlin who loves to mess us up and tells us we’re not smart, eloquent, or relevant enough to claim our place will be canceled effective immediately and won’t get a second season. The content wasn’t up-to-date anyway, either. Instead, let’s put the energy we wasted feeding it every day into our productivity and creativity. Creativity for things WE WANT to do, not for things we think we’re just good enough to do. Actually, my first article was not intended to have a self-help flavor, but if that’s the price for the ass-kicking I’m giving myself right now, then so be it.
And the second point that is near and dear to my heart: Driving the dagger of precautionary failure into one’s goals simply needs to hurt a lot more. It must be a pain so unbearable that one accepts with joy and enthusiasm to be potentially rejected by others or to fail in one’s endeavor as long as one has tried everything to achieve it and thus has thrown the dagger to the ground.
The fact that something is missing in a certain area, that there is a lack, can be something positive and is sometimes even a prerequisite for the work based on it. The activities of journalists and natural science researchers for example, have one decisive thing in common: the realization that knowledge is lacking and the endeavor to fill the knowledge gap and subsequently communicate it to the outside world. Accordingly, not knowing is by no means a brake, but at most a necessary catalyst. I want to use this catalyst to further expand in both areas and ultimately combine them, because that’s what I’m passionate about.
In that sense, this is a farewell letter. I now leave the eternal critic, who has always been at my side throughout my life, behind. I calm her down and tell her that I’m just going to run some errands and be right back, so that she won’t suspect anything. But I won’t come back. Instead, I will be dancing on her grave, celebrating her death. Thinking while doing, instead of thinking about doing. All journeys, no matter who takes them and where they go, must have a beginning. This is mine.
