Imposter Syndrome
I’ve come to understand the ego not as something bad or broken, but as a collection of masks—personas I’ve developed over time to help me navigate the world. These masks shape how I show up: as a visual artist, a mindfulness educator, a caregiver, a progressive. Each one has its purpose. Each one has served me in some way. But the trouble begins when I start to believe those roles are who I am. When I forget that they are just parts of the story, not the whole truth.
Sometimes I pause and wonder: are all these roles necessary? Can I set them down, even for a little while, especially when I’m with someone I love and trust? Can I do it when I’m alone—can I stop performing even for myself? And underneath all that, the real question lingers: If I’m not these masks, then who am I?
It’s such an astonishing thing, this life I’ve found myself in. A mystery, really.
And yet, despite all my training, my years of practice, and the many ways I try to live a meaningful life, I still find myself facing doubt. Sometimes I feel like a fraud, like I’ve somehow tricked people into believing I’m more capable or wise than I am. That’s what we often call imposter syndrome—that voice inside that says, You’re not enough, or You don’t really belong here.
But I’m learning to recognize that voice for what it is: the inner critic, not my true self. It may sound familiar, even convincing at times, but it’s not rooted in reality. And it certainly doesn’t speak with the voice of compassion or truth.
The truth is, I do have something to offer. We all do. My gifts are unique, not because they’re perfect, but because they’re mine. And so are yours. I try to remind myself often: think beyond the roles, beyond the titles. What do I offer just by being who I am? In quiet moments, I’ll make a list—not of achievements, but of ways I’ve shown up for others, for the world, for myself.
It helps. It helps to remember that everyone I admire has probably felt this same way at some point. That we’re not alone in this strange dance of self-doubt and longing.
With practice, with mindfulness, I’ve found that imposter syndrome doesn’t have to run the show. It might still show up from time to time, but it no longer gets to steer the ship. Instead, it becomes a kind of signpost—an invitation to remember who I really am beneath the masks. A reminder that I do, in fact, belong. That you do too.
We’re not here to be perfect. We’re here to be real. And that, in itself, is more than enough.
