Shhh…don’t tell anyone.

But most of the time, I feel like an imposter.

Now, before I start digging into what this means and why I feel this way, I am NOT and do NOT want any form of reassurance. My post for the day, week, month, year, hour, decade, aeon, century, millenia, period of time was inspired by The Pocket Muse. The prompt I am giving to my creative writing club was to write about a person who is pretending to be someone they are not.

And when I was offering suggestions, I thought that it would be cool to write from the perspective of the mirror as it watches and reflects a person self-scrutinizing themselves, trying on different emotions or responses to what they think they might encounter that day.

And it made me think of donning a mask or building a facade and being an imposter. Like spy novel imposter. Not the concept of imposter syndrome.

But my brain took it to that next level. Of what it means to feel like one is an imposter in an area or specialty or field where they are praised and lauded and pedestaled.

And that’s when my own sense of the imposter syndrome started eking from the back of the mind to the front of the mind and I know that I need to write more frequently and more consistently.

So here I am.

I am an imposter.

I say I am a writer but I don’t write. I love words and want to spend time with them and yet I hide away from them, sanctuarying myself in the nest of my comfy chair that smells mildly like my dogs because they love that chair too. I tuck into a ball that my peri-arthritic joints do not appreciate and play stupid phone games that help me escape from the pressure of the words that I should be writing and want to be writing but don’t because I don’t feel like I’m good enough.

There. There is it is. Gracelesscurran is an imposter writer.

Gracelesscurran also feels like an imposter teacher.

Yup. I feel like I should know everything ranging from phonetics and phonemes and syllables to polysyndeton to algebra. What the hell? Right! I literally had someone criticize me for not being able to do quick mental math with a string of numbers because I am a teacher.

I don’t know everything. I don’t know the in’s and out’s of every damn literary period on every damn continent and within each specific culture. I don’t know every single literary term and sometimes question my knowledge of each grammatical term too. Yes. I know what a noun is. It’s an action that describes an adjective which is something that relates to the tongue. Right?

Okay. I was just being silly there.

But, sometimes, that’s really how I feel.

I remember the first time I recorded a lesson. I had just started teaching in the gifted and talented section of my school and the 11th grade English teacher whom I respect and hold with really, really high regard was on the other side of our desk clump. And, as I was preparing my lesson, I suddenly became terrified.

What if I was wrong? What if she realizes that I’m just a fool in teacher’s clothing?

And I started crying. Because I really was afraid that I was going to be seen as an imposter in the gifted and talented world. And growing up thinking that I’m just not quite that smart (said the same way as Forrest Gump) certainly didn’t help the situation.

But my colleague was so kind and compassionate. She showed me this calming technique of pressing finger tips against parts of my hand. And she said that she believed that I was smart.

Imposter syndrome gone.

I still feel a little embarrassed over that memory. But it’s my moment. It’s that point when I let the mask slip and someone I cared about and respected offered the reassurance that I didn’t think I needed but I did. And I recorded my lesson and have since done many others.

I am an imposter. But only when I believe that I am.

Otherwise. I am a writer.

And a teacher.

And I am kind of smart.