I am a failure. It’s not certain that I have failed, but I
am nearly 100 percent sure that I have failed. On one hand, I feel ashamed.
Embarrassed. Humiliated. Ridiculous. I feel like an impostor. The number on the
scale looks back at me and taunts me, but the last few weeks, I feel like it’s
been laughing at me. Reminding me that I am in impostor.
On the other hand, I’m reminding myself of how far I have
come. And I don’t mean just the weight I’ve lost and the number of pounds that
have gone. My habits have changed; I’ve made exercise an integral part of my
life (finally!) and realized that I don’t live to eat anymore, but I eat to
live. I’ve gotten rid of some of the negativity in my life, including negative
people, a negative job situation, and I might
have even learned to love myself again (or for the first time.)
But the one question keeps nagging at me, is it enough? I want to believe it to be true, that I AM Enough.
It’s become my mantra since a friend from high school reminded me so
encouragingly and eloquently in March that I am enough and more than a number
on a scale. It was solidified as my mantra when another friend sent me a
bracelet with those very words inscribed after she had read my blog about it.
It serves as a happy reminder that I am enough. But still, I doubt. Still, I
feel like an impostor.
Losing weight has been an extremely emotional journey for
me; perhaps more emotional than I ever gave it credit for. I’ve been spending
months trying to put my finger on it, and this week I finally landed on how
exactly I felt- like an IMPOSTOR. To be honest, I’ve always felt this way. I
can remember as a child when I got praise for something or – mainly for good
grades – or achieved an academic success, that someone was going to figure me
out and uncover me as the fraud I really was. I’ve felt this way literally all
of my life, and I think it’s a big reason why I’ve never been able to keep the
weight off despite having lost weight several times before. Even now when I
open my eyes in the morning I have this fear that I’ve put the weight back on
and I won’t have any clothes that fit.
In a way, the weight I carried has masked my insecurity. And
in turn, I was highly insecure about the extra weight I was carrying. That’s quite the vicious cycle! But as
I near 41 years old, I wonder if that mask was the real me? Maybe
the real me is fat?
I also realize now that I’ve felt this way my entire life.
I’ve never quite been able to put my finger on it, but I’ve never felt like I
was enough, no matter how good I was at something or how good my grades were, or
how much I was praised for it. I just keep thinking “someone’s gonna figure me
out.”
A few years ago, like every woman in America it seems, I
read Sheryl Sandberg’s pro-female, career gospel about empowering women to
achieve, Lean In. I was hooked. It was there that I first read about Impostor
syndrome. Impostor syndrome, also known as impostorism or the impostor
phenomenon, is like self-doubt, but on steroids. It’s more than insecurity
about yourself or your abilities. According to Harvard Business School
Professor Amy Cuddy, it is a paralyzing fear that we don’t belong and that we’ve
fooled people into thinking that we are much more talented than we actually
are. Another facet is realizing others AREN’T impostors, and that they
actually deserve to be in a successful situation, oftentimes over you.
Yes! Yes! All of this.Yes!! I had never mentioned this
feeling to anyone, but I felt this way all of the time. About everything. And,
I’d never heard anyone else talk about it. It was like one of my biggest
secrets. I kept living in fear that I would be figured out. And I still do to
this day.
But now, my feelings of impostorism are about being fat.
Now, I am not skinny by any means, but I feel like any day I’m going to be
“outed” as a fat person and wake up that way again. (I mean seriously, I wake up in the morning and one of the first things I do is feel my stomach.) I still feel like an
impostor, just a skinnier one. Fat covers up so much other stuff, stuff I
didn’t even realize I was feeling.
Now, back to the weight loss journey – I’ve had a huge
realization! I’ve realized I’ve been afraid to be skinny for years. I know that
may sound crazy, but I got comfortable being the funny, fat girl in the room.
Yep, Rebel Wilson and Melissa McCarthy, if I too had been discovered, I would
have killed it in Bridesmaids and Pitch Perfect.) I learned to hide as a fat
girl, which is very ironic, because you are so physically visible to people,
but so often overlooked. You can pretty much be invisible if you want to me.
And a lot of times, contrary to my extroverted personality, I wanted to be. Frankly, I figured out a long time ago it
was easier to be the fat funny girl, than to be the fit, in-shape skinny girl. People
just expected less of you. They expected you to make them laugh and you would
always be there for them (because where else were fat girls gonna be on Friday
nights?)
I feel like I’m rambling a bit, but lately I’ve been trying
to process the emotions I’ve had on this journey. And I have this nagging
feeling that I am not enough. And that I never have been enough. And that I’m a
failure. Even when I sometimes have a false sense of feeling enough, I feel semi-confident and then I’m knocked back down to the impostor that I am.
A couple of weeks ago I had a realization that led to a
minor meltdown with Tom. Again, it was my impostorism creeping in. (Bless his
heart, he gets to hear all of these, and he always knows exactly what to say.)
One morning it occurred to me that I was going to fail. I wasn’t going to make
my #100byJune24 goal. And I felt like I was going to throw up and have my heart
stop beating all at the same time. How could I possibly fail at this? I was so
focused! Hell, I’ve been blogging about it and even created a damn hashtag. But
obviously, I wasn’t focused enough. I began to feel ridiculous, and maybe even
start to ugly cry. Then Tom looked at me, put his arms around me and simply
said, “so, you’ll just revise your goal. It’s just a number, Dawn. You need to
focus on how far you’ve come… you’ve set this goal for yourself, no one else
did. So you can revise It. You’ve lost 86 pounds, you look amazing, you look
fit and are healthy. Who cares if you reach 100 pounds by an arbitrary date?”
Wow. Just wow. For a man who sometimes doesn’t say a lot, he
said so much. He was right. And I wanted to believe him. I tried to believe
him. But still, not making this goal makes me feel like a failure. Like an
impostor. Not Enough.
I am very aware how ridiculous this all sounds. And like my other posts, I don't want your pity or for you to feel sorry for me in any way. I also know it doesn’t
make much sense to most of you. I’ve revised my goal to #90byJune24, but it
doesn’t have the same ring to it. It’s like 3rd place or worse- a
participation trophy or ribbon. And dammit, I wanted 1st place. I
wanted 100 pounds.
I know I will get there eventually and then I can make another goal. I’m still very much a work in progress. I’m reading up more on impostor
syndrome and some tips to overcome the debilitating feeling of being a fraud. (I like these tips a lot
But for now, I keep taking it one day at a time, and
sometimes, just one hour at a time. I have made a vow to not get on a scale
until June 24, and I hope it says I’ve lost at least 90 pounds. I also hope I don’t cry because
it doesn’t say 100 pounds. But I owe a June picture (somehow May slipped by and we didn't get one), so here is one of me
wearing my weekend baseball mom attire. Yep, those are those shorts I so
desperately wanted to wear, and I look at them everywhere. I am a little
obsessed with them right now. They are so comfortable.
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| June 10, 2017 Approximately 9 1/2 months post-surgery |
I also wear my bracelet everyday (thanks Lynn Cooper!) It has been a nice reminder for me, especially when I think that someone is going to come in and "out" me as not being qualified for my job, not being as smart as they think I have been, or frankly, as being a fat girl, I look down and desperately try to remember that I am more than just a number on a scale. I try to remember that I. AM. ENOUGH.
