Impostors like me?

Discovering that impostor syndrome really was a thing, is probably the  most astounding fact Twitter has so far taught me. (Well, that and the fact that Mary Shelley kept Percy’s dead heart in a silk pouch.)

Accordingly I now feel I owe the Sisters of Mercy in Rockhampton, Australia, an apology: although you absolutely did, in the literal sense, do my head in, it seems that it wasn’t you who are responsible for this particular defect: - even people who have never been near a nun in their lives have it.

Guilt now. Guilt I know gets poured into every person along with the holy water at Catholic Christenings. Though I was only Catholic from the ages of 11 to 14, I got exactly the same amount as those whose baby-eyes first focused on the black crucifix above the crib. So I knew for absolute certain I wasn’t alone with that one.

But this feeling of fighting the impulse - in public - to rip the clothes from ones back and confess to  heinous deception; is not mine alone! We are sisters and brothers – if not always in the faith any longer. We are the world, in fact. An extremely maladjusted, wimpish kind of world, it could be argued. But nevertheless vast swathes of us have this in common!

It’s not a personal defect – it’s a societal one. And thank god for that!

It really was a shock to me to find that a)such a concept existed – even if it it was found only to have sprung to life on social media; and b)it was common – even amongst my  more-educated, more intelligent, more knowledgeable, more mentally fit, colleagues.

Once I’d learned this astonishing fact it did bugger all to increase my confidence in academia; or even in the possibility of our species surviving. But what it did do was to make me feel better. Because it bonded me to people all over the world? Well, yeah, that.

But more than that – now I had an acceptable syndrome.

Bi-polar syndrome is a bit tricky to bond on though. Obviously. Some of us will

 a)forget all about whatever we did or said when the manic phase dies down;

 b) forget all about it and anything connected with life, when we’re in a down.

But also c) In England it’s not really considered polite to talk about mental health. If it’s one’s own. Most people tend not to bond with the disturbed set.

Deploring the mental health of society is fine. Listening to programmes on BBC4 is also quite good. Recognising that many people living on the street have mental illnesses is epic!

But there really is no need to talk about one’s private business. Especially if one is a bit...y’know: strange. It is rather impolite, and it only draws negative attention to oneself to discuss Bi-polar syndrome. (Not to mention how hugely embarrassing for the listeners, who never know where to put themselves!)

But "impostor syndrome"? Now there’s a bland, no nuance kind of label. And ‘impostor’ is  nicely bland too. Says nothing about the fact that Uriah Heep lives again through one’s own head. 

We are so not worthy, we impostors. Every person in every room we ever go in knows more, has a stable and equal relationship, has healthy self-confidence, and has never had a pimple on their bottom even in their teens.

And at any moment, in any setting, a great big hand is going to fall upon your shoulder. And you will be stripped of your dignity and be revealed to the world as one huge, humiliating fraud.

You have to admit that is one doozy of a syndrome to have.

But finally, and the best thing of all about learning about impostor

syndrome, is that it clearly proves one is not a complete and total arse!

For if you do have this rather dashingly titled disorder (it makes me think of the Scarlet Pimpernel) one can’t by definition, have others: - like currently popular Narcissism. 

The thought of that heavy hand coming to rest on your shoulder at any time precludes even the ability  to give an opinion sometimes – not the frame of mind in which feelings of superiority and contempt abound. One is spared that, at least.

For all of which reasons I’m still really stoked: finally a syndrome you can even take to parties or the dinner table. A syndrome with cachet. A mental defect even the most reticent can safely discuss.

Of course I may be over-thinking this as a result of the syndrome I already had before ever this one raised its head? And perhaps my feelings are all due to that? In which case I would indeed be an impostor to claim another. And perhaps I am not worthy of an acceptable one?

 In which case I’d still be an impostor: looking for a syndrome when I’d already got a couple of perfectly serviceable ones. And maybe, let’s face it, I may not even have impostor syndrome in any way shape or form.

But hell’s teeth – what if anybody found that out?