By Khaiah Thomson

Gently slamming the lid of my laptop (because I can’t afford a new one), I tip my head back, hitting the back of the couch a little too hard.

‘This manuscript is a dog’s breakfast,’ I mutter to myself as I drag a hand over my face.

I glance to my right, at the novel sitting neatly between Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien and Driving over Lemons by Chris Evans. My last name is written in bold capitals down the spine. I snort as I picture the ghost of Tolkien, a distinguished man with a comb over in coattails, standing with his hands in his pockets and looking between me and my bookshelf with arched brows as if to say, ‘You really think it belongs there? Next to me?’

A few years ago, I did something heretical, and colour coded my books. It was painful at first, but it looks pretty. Only I know where everything is which makes me feel like my own librarian, so it will stay that way. My book just happens to be placed next to one of the best novels ever written.

I look back at my laptop, my nose scrunched in the same way it does when I find sticky wrapper that’s been shoved between the armrest and couch cushions. “How on earth did I manage to convince someone to publish my work? Did someone wave a magic wand over my last novels when I wasn’t looking to actually make them readable? This is garbage.”

This is my thought process for at the least the first draft of a manuscript and I know many authors and creatives feel the same when they first expel—or vomit—their ideas onto a page or canvas. Let’s be honest, everyone has experienced imposter syndrome at some point in their life, whether it’s at work, in a social setting, during parenthood or just life in general.

For me, up until this point, life has felt like I’m flying by the seat of my pants, totally winging it and waiting for everything to crash into burning rubble. I’m exaggerating a little, I’m not always a knotted ball of anxiety, but there are times when imposter syndrome gets a real foothold, such as when I’m writing that first draft, parenting a small human, speaking about something I’m passionate about, or that moment between being awake and falling asleep when my brain likes to remind me of all the stupid or embarrassing things I’ve ever done. Why did I say hi-lo instead of hello? They must think I’m such doofus. There’s many a night when I wonder why I’m failing so spectacularly at parenting and why, just for one day, I can’t manage to not raise my voice. ‘Lord, did you really think it through when you decided to bless me with kids?’

My late-night melodramatic thoughts are close buddies with imposter syndrome. I’ve recently learned that “bed brain” may be responsible for the over-exaggerated midnight notions. The prefrontal cortex, our emotional control centre, falls partially asleep at night—something to do with circadian rhythm. So, for a person who doesn’t fall asleep quickly or wakes during the night, our sleepy prefrontal cortex can result in a trivial matter from three hours ago (‘This chapter falls flat. With a few tweaks it will read better’) becoming a dire, life-disrupting problem (I’m a fraud! I can’t write a good book to save my life. Who decided we needed colons and semi-colons?! For the sake of humanity, I should give up writing). For people such as my husband, who can fall asleep within seconds, this generally isn’t a problem, and the injustice annoys me to no end. Although I’d always figured it was something physiological, having a name for bed brain seemed to give me some power over it, much like imposter syndrome, or like knowing the true name of a fairy out of a fantasy book. When the thoughts creep in, rather than internalising it, I tell my bed brain to go to sleep and we can talk about it in the morning… Much the same as I do with my kids.

I’ve been a social worker for fifteen years, and during my years of study, the importance of self-reflection, critical thinking and “unpacking” was drilled into all of us wide-eyed, idealistic, social work students. When I “unpack” and think back to when imposter syndrome became a thing for me, I can’t pinpoint an actual time, although I suspect it had something to do with a warped sense of pride versus humility.

As a kid growing up in a Christian home there was many a Sunday School lesson that talked about humility and pride (no-one wants to be a Pharisee!) However, somewhere along the line I did a very human thing, and misinterpreted God’s word. I became so fearful of pride—because we all know that pride cometh before the fall, and I really didn’t want to fall—so I either wouldn’t allow myself to be proud of an achievement or would put myself down to ensure I remained humble.

As I grew up, I realised a lack of self-esteem or confidence wasn’t godly humility, and that I could acknowledge my strengths and abilities as gifts from God, but something in that childish belief sunk its teeth into my mind and I think may have (in part) morphed into imposter syndrome. I read a book called Captivating by John and Stasi Eldridge many years ago and I remember a chapter speaking about how it is extremely difficult to break promises that we make to ourselves as children; promises often made to protect our inner child (I hope I’ve remembered that correctly). I think in a similar way, my skewed beliefs from when I was a kid have been difficult to completely shift.

Thankfully, God is in control, and he is constantly reminding me to ‘…not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus (Phil 4:6-7)’. Rather than standing in a room of creative talent and feeling like a total fraud, when I have that fraudulent thought, I pray about it, give it to God and he helps me to appreciate that I have a place there and have something valuable to contribute. When someone tells me that they enjoyed my book, when I question whether they’ve read any truly good novels, I give that thought to God and he reminds me that I can accept the compliment and the fact that my storytelling skills are tolerable. When I’m writing that first draft, rather than comparing my writing to the finished works of J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis or Robin Hobb, I can bring to mind the quote by Shannon Hale that ‘I’m simply shovelling sand into a box, so that later I can build castles.’

I’m mostly in the habit of forcing imposter syndrome to take the back seat, but there is still the occasion where it gets its hands on the steering wheel and takes me for a joyride. Even as I write this, there is a part of me struggling to accept this piece and cringing, thinking it’s lame (am I using too many cliches?), and sinking further into the couch with each word. But today I’m acknowledging those fraudulent thoughts, capturing them, giving them to God, and trying to focus on the positives.

Today, and in this moment, I’m giving God the steering wheel and telling imposter syndrome that it isn’t welcome here and to ‘tuck and roll’ as I boot it out the passenger side door.

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