I Belong at the Table: Overcoming Imposter Syndrome

I’ve always been quite a free spirit at heart. But I had a really hard time showing it and expressing myself fully. I grew up in London, England in a traditional Caribbean household. We ate dinner as a family every Sunday - rice and peas with brown stewed chicken. Bob Marley was on constant rotation on the record player, especially as background music when my brothers and I had to perform our chores. My Mother was a nurse, wearing a cute little cap like Florence Nightingale with her hospital uniform dress. My Father worked as a mechanic, repairing the iconic red double-decker buses for the City of London.

So it was culture shock, to say the least, immigrating to live in Fort Lauderdale, Florida with my family as a 12-year-old. That British accent? I had to suppress that. People will laugh! Don't tell anyone that you love to eat fish and chips. They'll think that's weird! Don't tell them you're listening to an Elton John cassette tape on your WalkMan headphones. They'll REALLY think you're weird!

Dreams of becoming a dancer, fashion designer, or lion tamer were placed on hold so I could fulfill the promise of college to my hard-working Jamaican parents. They had sacrificed it all, so I could have access to the American dream. The least I could do was to get a degree and try my best not to embarrass them!

Attending college to pursue a career in journalism was already a bit of a stretch because my Mother didn't quite understand how one made a career as a writer. She kept patiently, yet insistently asking, “But Elizabeth, how are you going to make money?” in her lilting accent. She was confused, to say the least.

She worked two jobs almost around the clock, as a nurse. Becoming a pediatrician or pharmacist were her helpful suggestions. She settled, halfheartedly, on my choice of a writer because I had been able to earn a full-ride minority scholarship to a top state public university. And I had promised to make her proud - a vague pledge that I wasn't even sure how to fulfill.

Once I began college, I started to back-peddle on my career choice. On the first day of Freshman Orientation, we were advised by the emcee to look left and right because neither of those students would be there at graduation. Once I entered the college of journalism and started taking core classes, the faculty, made up of veteran news reporters and editors, berated us about the toughness and virtual impossibility of making it in the news industry. They gruffly warned us that 100 people would be lined up to take our job, if we were actually lucky enough to land one in any decent newsroom.

By all accounts, I should have actually been extremely confident. I had started working every summer since my sophomore year in high school with a minority intern program at a local newspaper. I was a published writer with several “clips” in my portfolio – an amazing feat for a college journalism student. Many of my classmates had not even stepped foot inside a newsroom and were vying to write articles for our school newspaper. To my credit, I would probably have a job awaiting me at the local newspaper once I graduated. So I should have had all the confidence in the world. But I didn’t. Not at all!

“Imposter Syndrome,” even though I had not identified it as such at that time, is a strong S.O.B. It wrestled me to the ground and pinned my listless body, exhausted from late night study sessions and barely passing grades. I spiraled out of control into a cycle of self-doubt and fear. I graduated on the five-year plan, with a less than stellar GPA and even less enthusiasm for the future, much to the confusion of my ever-supportive parents.   

My dreams had already deflated and I had long since decided I didn’t have the drive or the motivation to be the next Oprah Winfrey. And worse than that, I was much too afraid to try! So I became a writer with no voice, going on to become a middle school history teacher – safe and stable. Later I transitioned to teach College English and Creative Writing, where I would encourage the next generation to soar and reach for their goals, while I placed my dreams of writing the next great American novel on hold indefinitely.

But like Langston Hughes, the brilliant writer and poet, so eloquently asked, “What happens to a dream deferred? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?”

I began this year in 2020 feeling like I was going to explode and decided I had to unburden myself from the heavy load of my dreams. I had to let them soar, like I constantly coach and motivate my students to do with their own. My dreams have always involved being able to use my voice as a writer. I just never had the confidence to really do it.

Part of that process has involved becoming more active on LinkedIn and joining a community of supportive, motivating, and encouraging individuals. The New Year started, and I figured "New Year, New Me" just like everyone else! I’d had my account since 2007 but never consistently posted. Why not give it a shot? What did I have to lose?

I started posting a few things here and there and found like-minded individuals, who were actually interested in what I had to say! The more positive reinforcement I received, the more confident I felt. Small comments on a post like “Well-said” or “Mic drop” made my heart race just a little. I hadn’t written anything more than an email or text in so long that I’d forgotten that I actually could write. I had psyched myself out BIG TIME for so many years. “Wait a minute, I AM a good writer!” I began to tell myself. And the more I told myself that over the past few weeks, the more I believed it!

“Imposter Syndrome” is real, but it only exists in your head. The more power you give it, the more it tells you that you don’t belong. It tells you that people are going to find out you’re really no good and they’re going to laugh at you. You’ll look dumb. Don't play yourself! So it tells you the best thing you can do is sit down and be quiet so you don’t get found out.

LinkedIn was my opportunity to stand up proudly, pulling up a seat at the table. And I was HUNGRY! People were actually interested in what I had to say. When I commented on their posts, they asked me questions or thanked me for my feedback. I found my mojo. My words have impact and so does my opinion. I AM a good writer and I am going to continue to practice, master, and showcase my craft. My writing has given me a place at the table, and I'm ready to eat. Bon appetit!