Imposture Syndrome

“Who do you think you are?”

“You are not smart enough.”

“Stay in your lane.”

“You are not good enough.”

“No you cannot.”

“You are NOT a writer.”

An actual recreation of the dialogue in my head during a battle of the dreaded imposture syndrome.

            As a therapist, many may think I am immune to some struggles. Maybe you think since I “know better” I do not wrestle with the questioning voice in my head as the rest of the human race. I am here today to bust that myth. I too suffer from imposture syndrome.

            If you are unfamiliar with this expression, let me give you a lesson because I bet your lack of experience with the phrase is less about not suffering from the symptoms and more about not having a term to describe it.

Imposture syndrome begins with a whisper of doubt. Many times this symptom presents itself when one is trying something new or going out on a limb with an innovative idea. The whisper may be easy to shake off at first, however the slightest acknowledgement provides the necessary energy for the whisper of doubt to grow into declarations of uncertainty. Before you know it, one can then find themselves engaged with an internal battle of constant destructive and discouraging narratives that gain enough momentum to have the power to shut down the novel innovation so that the individual remains stuck in their safe comfort zone of the same.

Strike a nerve yet?

I began writing my novel ten years ago. I wrote it because I love to write and I had a story to share. As recent as October 2024, when my novel was published on Amazon, I still struggled to claim the identity of being a writer. I continue to fight imposture syndrome.

I am a therapist (I have no problem letting that roll of my tongue or allowing my fingers to type). I have a degree in social work. I hold a license to practice therapy with multiple states. I have held jobs with title of “therapist”. Therapist is not a self-proclamation. The fact still remains, I am a therapist because I practice therapy. However, it has taken me years to accept that I am also a writer simply because I write.

When I worked nights in the emergency psychiatric unit at University Hospital, I would use downtime to work on my novel. I actually took that job so I would have more time to juggle being a mother, a wife and a social worker so I could write. I remember when one of the nurses, who happens to be the very first person to finish the very first version of my novel and remains a good friend to me today, caught me writing one night when our census was low. She asked what I was working on and I stuttered all over myself trying to come up with a feasible answer other than “I am writing a book.”

Once I professed this secret, there were no imposture police ready at the helm to call me out and no buzzer sounding off alerting everyone that I was not a “real” writer. My friend appeared genuinely excited to learn this about me and wanted to read what I had written. When I was vulnerable, the imposture syndrome symptoms were kept at bay.

Imposture Syndrome is rooted in fear. That fear can stem from fear of judgement from others to fear of failure. Unfortunately, we are all guilty of acting out of fear and the results rarely work out as we intended. Fear is no place to function from.

So what do we do? How do we begin to recover from this sinister syndrome? What is our weapon against this infectious self-doubt?

Radical self-acceptance.

That’s it.

A simple but not easy practice of fully accepting who you are in this moment. The willingness to be vulnerable and the practice of acceptance is the remedy for imposture syndrome.

Acceptance is not reserved for only the good stuff. Acceptance also allows us to acknowledge the flawed parts of us along with the shiny parts we are proud of. We are not required to like something or someone to accept them in their true form. This rule also reigns true for ourselves. 

The act of being vulnerable allows us to show up as our rawest selves. No filters. No explanations. We are fully present and fully us. Though, this does not protect us from criticism or struggle to claim who we are. This does not guarantee we will be fully accepted by anyone other than us. Vulnerability does not require validation from anyone else. (That doesn’t mean it isn’t nice to receive though).

There is no absolute cure for all the symptoms of imposture syndrome. Some may lie dormant for years, but given the right circumstances they can kick into high gear and return to wreak havoc on your thoughts. The maintenance plan of acceptance and vulnerability are the best defense to keeping your thoughts free from doubting yourself. Let’s all take a look at chatter going on in our minds and the words we use especially about ourselves.

I am who I am because I say I am (period).

What Are You Missing with Skipping?

Do you hit “skip intro” when you stream a show? Or even skip the recap?

Do you chose watching 15-second reels instead of the whole movie just to get a gist of the plot?

Do you prefer to read a book or a blog? No judgement- blogs are great 😉

Have you thought about the pace in which we intake information and entertainment?

Recently a friend brought to my attention the difference in a show that was written and filmed to be watched episodically rather than binged and it got me thinking about how I intake everything.

I am currently watching a show that has been released episodically and the series finale is coming up this week. With this knowledge I found myself intentionally watching the intro, listening to the song and going through the recap every week. Why? I believe because I am savoring the end of something I enjoy. I want to revel in the small details and be intentional about enjoying the full story of characters I’ve grown to love.

This got me thinking…what if I implemented this in other areas of my life?

What if I was intentional about the food I eat? The glass of wine I enjoy?

What would happen if I savored the interactions with my family and friends in the same way I am with fictional characters of a show that is ending?

Would I be more intentional if I knew this would be my last glass of pinot noir or peanut butter and chocolate ice cream cake?

And what if I knew it was the last time I got to hug my mother? Or laugh with my friends or kiss my husband?

Many years ago I met a very wise older lady who taught me a lot about relationships and how navigate my emotions rather than let my emotions control me. I was mad at my husband…more like furious…I vented for as long as the breath in me would allow and ran out. And when I gasped for air to begin again, she replied, “you know what I think you should do?”

“Well, of course I would like to know! Why do you think I am here and out of breath?”

She smiled kindly with a little hint of sass and told me, “I would treat him like you knew it was his last day on earth.”

Of course I hated that answer! I wanted justice for however I felt he had wronged me. However, this woman I respected and learned so much from had never led me wrong before so I huffed and shook my head in agreement and went home and did as she told me. The thought of his last day brought tears to my eyes. I was mad at him but today I don’t even remember why, but nothing was more important than loving him.

I’ve used that filter for my thoughts more than once over the years and it still guides me in the right direction each time.

I’ve lost people I love. That pain has filleted me wide open and takes much effort to begin to heal. Since I know this pain, I know the importance of being intentional with my time and my love. This is not a perfect practice for me, though it is one I strive for.

Today I write this post from my desk at my bedroom window watching the snow cover my street. I have plenty I need to get accomplished, however Mother Nature had other plans. I intentionally turned my desk so I could watch the snow come down while I worked. I am intentionally slowing down and hibernating a bit. Maybe that is what Mother Nature’s intention was with this huge snow fall.

I started a new novel a couple of days ago knowing this storm was coming so I could sit and read rather than scroll social media aimlessly. (I’m almost finished with it-The Housemaid is fantastic).

I watched a movie with my husband without screening the highlights on reels.

I cooked a meal for my family, which is not something I usually enjoy, however this time I reminded myself how grateful I am to have a family to cook for, in a home with power and heat and ingredients that I can afford.

I sat down to write this post with the intention of sharing that while life gives a lot to juggle, and rather than “having” to do it, maybe it’s helpful to remember that I “get” to do it. Also, just because life happens fast and we try to shove as much as we can into every second does not mean you don’t have the option to slow down and be present.

This week I will watch the finale of my show along with the intro and probably sing the theme song I know by heart and even watch the credits because I want to experience this end with intention. Entertainment and art are important creations made with intention. I plan to be more present with this.

There is so much power in intention when I chose to take the time to practice it.

Best Christmas Picture Ever

Shocking news…The Holidays are Tough

As we approach this week and kick off the holiday season, my stress levels begin to bubble and rise along with the amount of times Mariah Carey is played on the radio. The increase in extended family time with people I love but do not interact with on the regular as well as the search for gifts to simply fill a spot on my shopping list are added to my ruminating thoughts playlist that kicks off around 3am.

With so much to do, who has time to enjoy this most wonderful time of the year? NO ONE!

My unpopular opinion of the desire to fast-forward to January 2nd is on the rise. Many of us are tired of the hurry up, keep buying, smile-and-hug-people-I-haven’t-seen-since-last-year and for-the-love-of-god-take-the-picture themes of the holiday season. We shove so much into these few weeks that we begin the new year exhausted, broke and bloated.

As someone who is not a fan of winter, I am trying to embrace the hibernating bear lifestyle (turn inward and rest). The pressure of the perfect holiday shoves me right out of resting bitch face and directly into elevated anxiety bitch face. Holiday commercials suggest that throwing a bow on anything makes it all better. Well, a bow on a pile of crap is still a pile of crap.

And let’s not forget what the holidays also highlight…those who are not here with us to celebrate. For many of us, there are empty chairs at the dinner table and stockings with no owners. We have a hole in traditions that cannot be filled and that is hard to swallow along with all of the cheer.

What if we turned it down a notch? Maybe there is a little less on the calendar and a little more time to be present. Maybe it is not about the perfect gift, but maybe sharing gratitude that you get to be together. There are many reasons why families spend the holidays apart. Whether by choice or necessity, so many struggle with being present for all the presents. Let’s avoid making asses out of ourselves by assuming everyone is joyfully spending this time of year together.

So maybe this year the theme is cheerful acceptance. Acceptance for the moment and what that entails, the good and even the uncomfortable. Having 25 people in a two-bedroom condo (this was how we did the holidays with my husband’s grandmother years ago) is not comfortable, however today I think back fondly on those sweaty meals because she is gone now and I miss her. She was the happiest person there having all of her people crammed together and celebrating. It wasn’t comfortable, but it did not harm anyone and her home was full of love, good food and laughter.

Acceptance of boundaries. Maybe forcing our kids to sit on the lap of a strange man in a costume, telling him their greatest desires and smiling is not the best lesson. Maybe if they say they are uncomfortable or afraid we can try a new approach. With the same token, maybe we can speak out what we need whether it is excusing ourselves a little early from the festivities or staying home altogether. We do not have to abide by the unwritten rules of the season if those rules do not serve us. This is less about getting our way or not and more about listening to each other respecting the fact that no single person knows best of all.

I vow to be mindful this season. I will be present in the moment. I will respect the wishes and desires of others. I promise to listen to understand rather than to respond. I will ask for what I need. I will prioritize my needs so I can show up when and where I can in the way I want to.

It does not have to be the most wonderful time of the year for me to celebrate and enjoy the time of year. I can survive and advance and relish in the normalcy of today rather than the glitter of unrealistic expectations.

I wish you the holiday season you need!

Brain Fog

I’ve been walking around in a state of fog. Words struggle to find each other. Straining to form a complete thought. Anxiety takes over and I shut down. The brain fog of anxiety and depression rolls in heavy and hangs low.

I live on the outskirts of the city, not quite country but with plenty of room for fog to roam along with the intuitive deer that I love to watch from my front porch. When I leave my house with heavy fog and the sky still dark, I go slow. I change the head light setting on my car to help me navigate the fog. I stay alert and mindful of what’s going on around me. I do this for my safety, the protection of whoever is in the car with me and for my spirit animals (the deer).

In the past couple of weeks, I’ve had multiple clients report brain fog as a symptom of anxiety and depression. Clients feeling as though they cannot make decisions. Folks struggling to carry on conversations or even function in their days. I too felt that strain this last week and it is terrible.

The blanket of despair covered me with heavy clouds of “who cares” sprinkled with “what’s the point”. When I had simple decisions to make about minimal issues, I felt stuck and could not make the choice. At one point, I just laid on the couch and watched a rerun of a show I’ve seen about 1200 times because I wanted comfort rather than to be entertained. The weight of the fog pulled me down and I let it. I sat in it.

I know feelings and emotions. I process all the feelings and all the emotions every day of my life for a living. I know the importance of having awareness and acknowledgement of feelings. I preach all the time about acknowledging how we feel and sitting in the uncomfortable feelings to allow them to do their job. However…it’s not so easy when the shoe (or emotion in this case) is on my foot.

I do not like feeling helpless, hopeless, angry and sad. I do not like “sitting it in” and letting the feelings do their job because it is uncomfortable. Feelings exist for a reason and if we run away from them before they have a chance to do what they are intended to, those uncomfortable feelings will follow us and we will lose any control we had over how those feelings manifest in our lives.

Have you ever had road rage or unloaded on someone who didn’t deserve it? Have you ever found yourself in tears for “no good reason”? (That is the effect of not letting uncomfortable feelings do their job – that is loss of control.)

So, when the uncomfortable comes. I will listen to my own words and sit in the shit. I will let sadness, anger, helplessness and pain do their business. I will have awareness of their presence and acknowledge their purpose (even when I do not know their purpose). I will not run away and avoid the pain. BUT I will also not stay there forever. I will not succumb to pain, only learn from it. Then, I will dose it with the best antidote…gratitude. I may even find gratitude for the uncomfortable which teaches me lessons to help me later.

And as the fog begins to lift (as well as my ass off the couch), I will push forward, change my headlight setting back to normal and I will keep going. I will take with me the lessons and I will be ready to do it again when the fog rolls in. And the fog will return because life is tough and pain is inevitable and each time I learn more to help me and those around me when we need it. And for that I have gratitude.

I’m STILL Not Fine and Neither Are You

I get to train leaders of a large company on trauma. Granted, there aren’t gobs of people lining up to teach trauma, however, I get to. My work-wife (aka colleague) and I have to prepare ourselves before getting up in front of a room of very smart and responsible people to teach them how to allow themselves and their employees to be human. We don’t share our personal traumatic histories and stories, however it takes a lot of energy to make the impact we feel is important to make.

Inevitably, there are head nods in agreement and note taking as we continue through our material making good points that deserve highlighting. However, my favorite part is when we give the group permission to not be okay. We get to see a communal sense of relief roll over the group as shoulders release with a chorus of grateful exhales. By simply giving permission for people to be human we allow people to step into their truth so they can then welcome others along with them. When we all show up a little more honestly, we have a chance to truly live rather than survive.

I said these words in the training we facilitated yesterday, “I’m not fine and neither are you. And who wants to live as fine? I don’t. I have no desire to survive life. I want to live and that requires me to show up in an honest way.”

A harmonious, concurrent head nod occurred from the group. I thought to myself ‘my work here is done.’

I’m Not Fine And Neither Are You (scarymommy.com)

I remain proud of this piece and the positive impact it had on people. It was a giant step into the light of truth and vulnerability in writing that I had not been brave enough to share before. I am so grateful I did and so grateful to continue to be on that path with you all!

Thank you for reading & supporting me!

Peace and Love,

Steph ✌️🧡

The Beauty of Being a Woman

Our ability to use delicate strength as well as brutal force when necessary.

The rainbow of colors and shapes of our hair which pulls back the curtain to tell a piece of our story.

How a trademark ring can be more than an accessory and transform into an heirloom.

When the type of shoes she wears can tell you the kind of day she is heading into – whether it requires shit-kicking boots or the clack of heels on the hallway to get the job done.

A magical kiss of a mother to heal any wound or the silent look she gives to shut down a situation without the need of threat.

The comradery acknowledged using one word between two women… ‘GIRL’…

The immeasurable energy created when a group of women gather and hum of laughter and conversation between friends of any length of time.

We are women and we celebrate each other today for all that we are.

The roles we play in our families, our workplaces, our friendship circles and our communities are vital and irreplaceable. The conventional roles of nurturers and healers for communities are not to be dismissed by but commended in addition to the innovative paths women are paving in careers and solidifying other respected roles.

Our history includes times of pain and grief to ensure our rights as human beings and not the lesser sex. Equal access to health care and even voting was not inherently bestowed to us, so we had to take those rights through whatever means necessary. Those rights were taken by women coming together in support of each other.

We spend far too much time sitting in comparison judgement of one another. Whether it’s through social media posts or carpool lines, rather than celebrating the woman next to us we tend to criticize her for the car she drives, the job she does or doesn’t have and if she is wearing the current trend. Some of these traps to keep us against one another are by design, so let’s breakthrough the smoke and mirrors to come together for one another.

I see you. I celebrate you. I am grateful for you, phenomenal women!

Present for 43

43. An age my father never saw. Outliving your parent is a strange feeling.

Living in a world they no longer exist in hurts. A certain level of fear comes with navigating life without the guidance of the man programed to protect me.

My father died very suddenly one night due to a blood clot in this lung at the age of 42. Nine days after my 14th birthday. One week after my mother turned 40.

In October last year, I was diagnosed with a blood blot. At the age of 42. The irony was not lost on me, however the anxiety exponentially multiplied. One of my first thoughts was, “are you kidding me?” The Universe enjoys surprising me.

This news forced me to examine everything. While testing and appointments and arguments with insurance ensued, I sat with my thoughts. I was the same age as my father when he died. I have two almost 14-year-old girls. I’m now fully aware I am not in control of what goes on in my own body much less the entirety of my life.

Sitting with my thoughts alone is a dangerous path to take, so good for me I have a killer support network. It was a wonderfully enlightened friend who suggested this was my chance to free myself from the fear I carried a majority of my life and accept life on life’s terms. I became open to finding the truth within myself, and accepting that right now, this moment is where life is. Not in the regrets of the past or the fears of the future.

Addressing the medical and physical dynamics of this diagnosis included blood work, multiple procedures and countless appointments. Taxing on my energy. However, the mental and emotional dynamics were continuous, non-stop and all-consuming drain on my daily functioning.

This experience took my enlightenment journey to a new awareness. It forced me to be honest with myself. To pull out my fears from the darkest parts of me and hold them out into the light. I found out there are parts of me I don’t like – parts of me I would rather keep hidden, however I am not pieces of a person. I am a whole person, darkness and light. Altogether beautiful – not only the shinny photo-ready parts.

I fell down.

I made mistakes even when I knew they were mistakes as I was making them.

I covered up.

I isolated.

All of which impacted people around me in a negative way. Not something I’m proud of.

I do not write to you from this euphoric location of enlightenment. I am not “fixed” and sitting on a high horse somewhere. I write to you from the mud – tripped up by a giant pothole. Drenched in failure and questioning all life’s choices. I’m in the middle of the struggle. Continuing on the path.

During my travels so far I’ve learned a simple, yet daring lesson on how I want to live. What I’ve found as the only way I have a chance at being happy and healthy. It takes vulnerability and energy and dedication. You must be brave enough to adapt and accept this way of life.

(Pause for dramatic effect)

Be present now.

That’s it. 

In this moment…

I am healthy.

I write from my make-shift-sick-bed on my couch at home on the other side of major surgery which provided me the solution to blood clots developing in my body, and have been granted freedom from the fear of what may come.

I have a warm house during this cold night.

I have a fridge full of food from friends & family who’ve taken care of me and mine these last few weeks.

I have a husband who literarily held me up when needed during my recovery.

I am breathing.

I am alive on the last night of 42, right now.

(See how I sprinkled gratitude in there without even writing the word).

As this posts, I turn 43 years old. I write that with gratitude and pride. I promise to live in the moment this year. And if I begin to time travel and seek out the anxiety, stress and pain caused by regrets from yesterday or fears for tomorrow, I also promise to be still until I find the moment again so I can live in it.

43 is good for me!  

*I want to give a special shout out to the medical professionals who walked me through this journey and fought for me to get a solution rather than pass me off and continue a treatment that would not have worked anyway. So grateful for the care you took for me!

Dr. Julie Ellis – who found the clot and hugged while I cried in fear of what was to come

Dr. Wangjian Zhong – who patiently explained everything, including the uniqueness of my cases and the possible unique cause and solution

Dr. Charles Bush III – who talked to me like he would his own sister & who found the evidence of my diagnosis which FINALLY secured my approval for surgery from the insurance company (after multiple denials)

Dr. Nabeel Gul – who kindly walked me through the entire surgery and the need for it, who personally called me to explain delays and what he was doing to advocate for me with the insurance company and who operated on me and went the extra step to ensure my care.

Geri at Dr. Gul’s office – who answered every call and message from me with kindness & who advocated for me all the way.

Courtlant, RN nightshift on 5E at Baptist Health – who hugged me through the pain & helped me fall asleep.

(I know there are many more of you who took amazing care of me I was medicated so well it effected my memory 😉

To all the medical staff at Baptist Health, I am so grateful for the care you took in my health. Every. Single. Person myself or my family interacted with was so kind and caring.

Thank you so very much for taking the very best care of me.

mid-life crowning

Midlife Crisis or Crowning?

As a woman of a certain age (somewhere in my mid-thirties) I swore I would never have a mid-life crisis. With images of hysterical females shoving themselves into clothes they aged out of and watching salt & peppered-haired men driving gas-powered penis extensions, I wanted no part of it. The fear of aging we have been spoon-fed has prompted an entire industry of age-defying potions and tricks to stop a process of privilege.

The fact is not everyone gets to grow old.

Even more ironic, this same brand of magic would have gotten us all an early death throughout history.

So why do we continuously, cut on ourselves and cover ourselves with whatever they say will make us appear younger? And who decided that being younger is the ultimate goal?

I have no desire to be 25 again…it was hard enough the first time around and even with the knowledge I have today, 25 wouldn’t be as much fun as it was when that was my actual age.

As we approach “mid-life” I also ask, who the hell determined when “mid-life” actually takes place?

Is there a crystal ball somewhere or a game clock buzzing indicating half-time?

And if this is in fact the mid-point of my life, what is the point of trying to reduce myself to what I have already been?

Isn’t the point, growth? Change? Knowing better, so I can do better?

A couple of years before my 40th birthday, I made a promise to myself – absolutely no mid-life crisis! Instead, I began work on self-discovery. My thought was, “in 40 years I’ve bound to have learned a few things, so instead of seeking out youth, I want to uncover the lessons of aging.”

Great idea, right?

I thought I had tricked the system! ‘Okay society, you want me to long for my younger years, I’m going to celebrate the aging process!’ Haha!

Upon this brilliant journey, I completely lost my mind.

I uncovered so many pieces of myself that were hard to look at. I charted mistake, after mistake doing the same wrong things over & over expecting different results (aka insanity).

I found traumas I thought I had laid to rest, but in reality I just took a giant step over as I passed by, thinking that acknowledgment indicated acceptance.

While I did not dress like a 25-year-old or purchase a mobile penis, my behavior & mindset were in a full-blown crisis.

So there I was, broken.

Broken promises to myself.

Questioning all my life’s choices.

Berating myself for in fact having the mid-life crisis I promised I would not.

I wanted out of that feeling immediately!

The healing began.

Acknowledging my mistakes & traumas was step one. I had to figure out a way to heal.

Therapy. Meditation. Writing. Making amends (to others & myself).

This was not a weekend retreat & all was right in the world (btw…still in process).

This is accepting the lessons of life so far and actually implanting them in my life.

It’s being brave enough to own my shit and start something new.

This crisis became my crowning. My celebration that I get to move to the next round-I get to keep living & learning.

So I’m going to challenge society (or whoever reads this post), to change our mindset of mid-life crisis to mid-life crowning. We are privileged to experience this moment in time, so let’s embrace it rather than run from it. There are so many who do not get the opportunity.

Let’s aim for being grateful rather than grimaced.

Thriving instead of surviving is a much better place to function from so we might as well get a crown out of it instead.

Haunted by Approval

Next week, I will turn 42 (the good Lord willing)!

This is the age my father was when he died. To act as if that has not been weighing on me would be inauthentic.

I love my birthday. I really LOVE my birthday. It may be due to the fact I was born in the armpit of winter and celebrating my birthday gives me something to look forward to. Or, maybe I am a self-centered, egotistical asshole. Either way, I celebrate all month long and I have no intention of stopping.

Turning 42 has haunted me from the day my dad died. I wanted to achieve so much with my life – do so many things that he would never have the chance to do. My unwritten, unrealistic expectation was to turn 42 with the knowledge that my dad was proud of me. The problem with this plan – it’s impossible!

I would never get that validation, because he would not be here to witness my life.

So instead, I sought out approval from every other corner of my life. From grades, to sports, to career choices, outside validation became the measuring stick of my worth.

Am I good enough? Says who…always you, never me.

My desires, my reasons were never enough.

I required the co-signing of other people’s opinions.

I spent so much time worrying about what everyone thought of everything I did, I forgot that the first person I need to be accountable to and approve of is ME!

If you disagreed with how I did things, my first inclination was to question myself. I couldn’t possibly be right, if someone questioned me.

I feel so much empathy for that girl, today.

So rigid. Functioning out of fear. And judging herself constantly.

The girl who never felt secure – in her thoughts, her actions, her dreams and even her own skin. I didn’t want to be liked as much as I wanted to be right, validated for being me.

Along with my birthday celebration, February also brings the anniversary of my dad’s death. I remember every detail of that morning, to my mother’s voice telling me he’s gone to the emptiness that filled our home with the absence of his presence. I remember feeling helpless and a strong desire to do something, anything that made sense because the realization that my father, the strongest person I knew, was not coming home was inconceivable. Not only my brain, but my soul refused to accept it.

I did not want to be a cautionary tale, a girl with daddy issues who sought comfort in all the wrong ways. I channeled my fear into action and the race to perfection began. It was a game of whack-a-mole.

School struggles?? Nope-fixed it!

Typical teenage antics?? Not me!

Grieving correctly?? Sure am!

“Nothing to see here! I’m fine.”

So at the ripe ole age of 14, I set the expectation of perfection. All the while, managing overwhelming grief from the loss of my parent and not processing this with anyone.

The real achievement is that I am alive to tell this tale.

And my career choice…helping people, of course. Because what better way to hide from my troubles than to dive head-first into someone else’s?

For the next 25 years, I spent my life chasing approval from a ghost, setting a bar of achievement to an unreachable level and berating myself along the way for not being what I was “supposed” to be. I did not do this without many failures and much self-inflicted pain.

The theme of not feeling “good enough” has been heavy on my mind recently.

The pressures from work. The failures at home. The lack of peace of mind. These are common struggles I hear during therapy sessions as well as in my own thoughts.

We all are hurting.

We all have failures.

We all need more peace.

Right before COVID hit, I promised myself I would not have a ‘mid-life’ crisis when I turned 40. I would cross that threshold with grace and embrace aging.

Though it may have looked more like a brace-for-landing situation rather than a graceful entrance into my forties, here I am nonetheless.

What I did have was an awakening.

I realized what I had been doing to myself my entire adult life. I looked around and saw no one was keeping score, but me.

No one (that mattered) judged me for my pain or my faults.

I was my own worst enemy standing right in my way.

With no plan, other than change I promised myself I would learn to love and be proud of me. That became my guiding manta – I would trust myself above all else.

Since that birthday, I have made huge strides in that change.

I am more comfortable in my own skin, but there are days I still cover up and fight that shaming voice.

I am confident in my accomplishments, but there are moments I suffer from imposture syndrome.

I find purpose and peace in my day, but I fight storm of chaos to gain perspective.

What I’ve learned is, struggling does not define my life, I do. I write this narrative. I validate my experience.

I have hard days. I cry often because it heals me. I soak in my bathtub to let go of the day. I talk to my therapist to unpack my baggage. I still have hard days, the difference is I don’t live there all the time.

This is not a how-to-post. I do not know a secret. I have not found an “answer”, I found options. When letting go of expectations, some of my rigid ways went also. The more I let go of, the more my mind opened up to opportunities for a more peaceful existence. I blew up the walls that confined the narrow path I traveled for so long, to uncover unlimited choices for where I want to go next. Empathy and intentionality became more comfortable to me. I started to give myself grace and felt lighter. Grace and options are a beautiful combo.

I have rough times, not a rough life. I define my own narrative. Change promises change. My job is to navigate my journey and be accountable to myself.

My life is beautiful chaos, simply because I say so.

So 42, I am ready for you! I embrace this birthday full of gratitude and a ton of grace to give myself as I mess-up, succeed and enjoy all the moments (even the ugly ones because that is part of my story). I miss my dad all the time. There are still moments I pause to look for his nod of approval. However, I no longer chase that impossible expectation. I am learning to be proud of myself, because I am enough.

I am not finished. More to come.

What box do you check, today?

I check a lot of boxes.

✅Woman

✅Mother

✅Wife

✅Daughter

✅Sister

✅Friend

✅Helper

These boxes are easy to identify roles I play daily. These are roles I am proud of.

However, there are many other boxes I check that are not so clear to the outside world – identities I own, but may not show to everyone.

✅Empathic

✅Spiritual

✅Feminist

✅Strong-willed

✅Relentless

And still, some identities I own, but am not so proud of.

✅Self-conscious

✅Controlling

✅Neurotic

✅Procrastinator

Our identities dictate how we function in the world. As a woman, the world interacts with me based on that identity. In turn, my identity as a woman shapes how I make my way through my day. People see my appearance, assume I am a woman, and act accordingly.

My identity as a wife also shapes how people interact and communicate with me. The fact I wear two bands on my left ring finger signifies I have someone I share my life with (or that I don’t want to be bothered). It identifies I am married and this identity shapes my interaction with other people and even how I interact with societal structures like government, financial institutions and organized religion.

Other pieces of my identity are not as easy to notice. You may not get the opportunity to witness my relentlessness unless you are a client of mine or working on a project with me. My family and friends can attest to pros and cons of my strong-will. You can simply have a conversation with me or see my social media posts to recognize I am a feminist, but you may wonder if I am religious or spiritual – these identities are not seen with the eye.

And as for the identities I am not so proud of, I go to great lengths to keep these embarrassing little boxes closed and out of sight. These identities are currently under construction and in process of change.

ALL of these identities are pieces of me – They make up who I am.

How I see me.

How the world sees me.

Pieces of a pie that I serve to those who come my way.

And yet, they are ALL able to be changed.

Now you may argue, a mother is always a mother. My response is, yes, but a mother can be a mother in name only. I choose to be the kind of mother I am today. That choice shapes my identity as a mother. Same as being a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend and a helper. Identities that many also lay claim to but implement differently.

I do not enjoy cooking. (Yep-I said it!) I cook so my family doesn’t starve. I have identified as a bad cook for most of my adulthood – I did try to act like I enjoyed it for a few years in my 20’s but that lie died quickly. I told anyone who would listen, and I preface any food offer I brought to a party, “I am a bad cook.” I lowered the expectation immediately. What came along with that identity was the resentment with cooking and all associated activities. The grocery shopping, the prepping, the planning are all tasks I dread, because who wants to do a task when you don’t enjoy it and you aren’t any good at it.

But what if I am an amazing cook?

What if I decide to change my identity and find purpose and peace in cooking for my family? What if I choose a different identity? I do not have to love cooking to be good enough.

Maybe changing my identity as a bad cook prompts me to ask for help with other tasks at home and improves communication at my house?

Maybe if I am not a bad cook, maybe I am more confident to make food for family get togethers and gives us more time to make memories?

Maybe identities can be changed? Maybe the more knowledge we gain we can adjust our perspective?

The challenge lies with accepting, evaluating, and learning from new information then adjusting my perception of truth to account for this knowledge. I am evolving and opening my mind to acceptance that my identities can change when I open myself up to the opportunity. Maybe adjusting my identity opens doors of opportunity that would remain closed if my mind does also.

💥Maybe I am confident, not self-conscious.

💥Maybe I am vulnerable, not sensitive.

💥Maybe I am spiritual, not religious.

Changing my identity doesn’t negate who I used to be, it validates my growth.

And I don’t grow in my comfort zone.

Maybe I am a good cook sometimes and sometimes I am not. Maybe it’s not all or nothing.

Maybe who I am, changes as I grow. Maybe I get to be whoever the hell I decide to be.💥