Impostor Syndrome and the Body of Christ

Impostor: a person who practices deception under an assumed character, identity, or name (dictionary.com)

On a recent Sunday, the 2nd reading at mass was from First Corinthians 12, Saint Paul’s analogy of the Church as the Body of Christ. This particular Sunday, I remember smirking and sighing knowingly as the lector read. 

I’ve been struggling with my identity lately. In the aftermath of a broken relationship and after several years of working in the same position professionally and feeling the empathy fatigue that brings, I have been wondering where my place is. I look at the remaining financial debt I have from a most adventurous life, a long-term volunteer experience, being on disability, and a few big moves across the country and I ask myself–am I still effective where I am? Do I dare have the confidence to seek out other employment? Will I have to work until I am 80? Will I ever be a homeowner? 

If you have read any of my previous blogs these last 5 years, you will note that self-compassion and healing from brokenness are major themes in my life. It has been so very tempting to look at where I am, the gifts I have been given, the vocation I am undertaking, the professional role I hold, the relationships I have, and think, “What could I have ever done to deserve this? Who am I to be where I am?” 

From a young age, I believed I had to prove my worth through deeds, actions, keen intuition, and being available for whatever my friends or colleagues might need. Whoever “I” was underneath all of the things I could DO for you was not important: it was the extra practical talents I carried with me that made me important, or so I thought. I shudder to think about how I gave and gave and gave of myself because that was the right mask to hide my inferiority. 

When I struggled during my first year of college, I panicked. I had no idea how to study or function at an elite institution like the one I had chosen. I left at the end of my freshman year with a 2.4 GPA, which was unheard of within my circle. I moved home and attended community college. I was embarrassed. My carefully crafted identity based on talents and achievements was shaken. 

I threw myself into service, an easy place to hide because I would always have the excuse of needing to go help someone if things got awkward (or, most often, if I got awkward). I was on the leadership team of a Christian junior high school girls camp for decades, and I still believe I was not the person that was “really wanted” for the job. I was not cool, athletic, beautiful, funny, or graceful. I was not an artist, or a fashionista. I was never up on the latest music or cultural trends. I felt like I was just a body who was there and willing to do the job. 

During college, I latched on to a particular athlete in my Sports Medicine program, making sure I could be there for whatever that person needed, any time of day. I worked at a small nonprofit that thrived on employees doing more than the role implied, so I stayed at work late and got there early. I trained for numerous roles so that I could be plugged into the one most needed on any given day. 

In many areas of my life, I believed that I was an impostor, someone who should not be there but was accepted simply because I was available. I continued to don masks, such as the calm one who could be trusted in any situation. I was seen as capable, trustworthy, organized, and reliable. Not glamorous descriptors, but good enough for me. On the inside, I was crumbling, but maintaining that false confident self was becoming routine. 

Friends begged me to share more of myself, and I kept throwing them my best efforts at gifting or serving, instead of opening up to them. I had no idea who I was inside besides a young, scared girl who did not believe she was worthy of any of this and certainly not in any position to exalt herself. I believed that sharing from my heart, opening up my woundedness, and being vulnerable in any way were weaknesses that would immediately result in disownment by friends, employers, and perhaps even family.

I was a good nurse, but I questioned myself and would count up the misses I had instead of the moments of great connection with patients or families. In Nicaragua, I second-guessed myself multiple times per day, wondering how I was put into a position of authority to make decisions and lead. When I was voted out of my leadership position by my board of directors, everything within me sank because I believed I had finally been found out–I was an impostor filling a role that I did not deserve. The same occurred in Haiti. I had a very challenging relationship with my supervisor, who undermined my efforts and left me in a constant state of questioning whether I was doing the right thing. 

In the years after Haiti, I suffered tremendously over what I had done and in re-acclimating to American culture. Feeling less and less important and more and more desperate for a Savior, I believed the worst of myself. I could no longer maintain the facade. Thirty-seven years of wearing masks and striving for affirmation had taken its toll on me, and I had nothing left to give. I was truly broken. I needed to learn a new way of viewing myself and my life.

In Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, he starts Chapter 12 by explaining that there are many spiritual gifts, but the same giver, different varieties and activities, but the same Lord. He then expands on this and exhorts the Church on how the Body of Christ is not all one member, but so many who have unique giftings and therefore unique purposes. “If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be?” (1 Cor. 12:17). But even moreso, as the chapter continues, he touches on those of us who have deemed ourselves inferior. 

“On the contrary, the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and those members of the body we think less honorable we clothe with greater honor, and our less respectable members are treated with greater respect; whereas our more respectable members do not need this. But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.”

1 Cor 12:22-26

Well then. I don’t get to decide if I am worthy of being a member of the body. I have been chosen for a vocation and a purpose that no one else has been chosen for, because I  contribute uniquely according to the gifts I have been given by God. I cannot be all things to all people. I should not wish to be all things to all people. 

But I am committed to making this choice. 

I was speaking with an esteemed colleague just last week about my current struggles with my state in life and my professional role. She reminded me that this universal story is so much bigger than the tiny role we think we play, and that we may not know our purpose or the meaning of a particular chapter, trauma, interaction, or initiative. We are living a bigger picture in which all of us have a part to color. I have said before that I am not an artist. I don’t draw or paint well. But I do something that is valued, and even when I struggle to believe it myself, Someone sees it as valuable. I will choose to believe that however I live my God-given purpose, it will be beautiful. I am not an impostor, I am who God made me to be, and that is good.