Can Imposter Syndrome Apply To Love?

Not just for the workplace.

I’m a Gen X chick in tech.

That means most of my career, I was the only woman in a room full of men. Growing up in a strict Muslim house with mostly male cousins, I knew how to not make myself too flashy or draw attention. Laying low in a sea of men was my MO.

In meetings, I’d feel like I was the token dumb person. Not that I was token dumb female…I assumed my self-perception of incompetence was gender-neutral. The first time I heard the term Imposter Syndrome, my mind was blown.

The entire time I thought I was the bumbling idiot, feigning her way through a career…maybe I was actually competent and good at my job. There go two decades of insecurities down the drain.

Want to learn about yourself? Get a divorce. You’re forced to understand how childhood trauma affects your relationships and fucked up behaviors. I dug deep to understand who I am and the role I played in my disastrous marriage.

As a kid, I developed two personas. Growing up with immigrant parents in a strict religious house meant behaving differently than I did with my Canadian friends. Add to that undiagnosed autism and it became a recipe for feeling like a constant outsider in both worlds.

Every romantic relationship feels like I’m breaking the rules because my parents’ plan was a modern-day arranged marriage. I’m winging it.

My deep, dark insecurity is: if you fall for me, it’s because I conned you. If you knew the real me, you wouldn’t like me.

The underlying theme of my divorce is the desire to lead an authentic life. That’s tough to reconcile with my underlying belief that I’m conning people to love me.

Cambridge Dictionary defines “authentic” as “being what it appears to be”. Uh…thanks? Dictionary.com describes it as “representing one’s true nature or beliefs; true to oneself or to the person identified”.

That’s more like it.

I wanted my outside world to reflect how I felt on the inside. If I’m unhappy, I want the right to display it instead of stuffing it down. I want to wear cute clothes without feeling silly or ridiculed by my partner. Sex is important to me and feeling like a human glory hole once every few months isn’t anything I’m going to experience again.

I’m not a delicate butterfly. I was tired of trying to be one. I’m a sarcastic, clumsy asshole. I’m someone who genuinely wants to love and show affection, but not towards someone who treats me like a nag and a mother. Playing the role of the Bitchy Wife made me feel worse. My heart ached to show love and care to someone who reciprocates.

At the bare minimum, I don’t want to pretend I’m a tough soldier without emotions. I feel with deep intensity. A life of authenticity means having the right to cry when I’m in the privacy of my home.

On my dating resume, I’m a catch for my age demographic (according to the slew of men I dated during my post-divorce Whore Phase of dating everyone to fill up my non-custody kidless times). I’m petite. I take care of my skin. I have fake boobs and go braless on dates. I have a career. I don’t need money (well…as far as they’re concerned when it comes to golddigging). I have my own house. My kids are a priority. I have a rich social life. I’m funnier than the average forty-something woman around here. On paper, I have my life together.

And yet…

I feel like a fraud.

The myriad of psychological issues I have ranging from Disordered Attachment to General Anxiety Disorder to old school Depression prevents me from truly believing that I’m worthy of anyone I truly like.

Note the use of “I truly like”. Most of the men I dated were placeholders with zero long-term potential. However, when I dated a guy I adored…the psychological tables turned.

I feel like I’m faking my high-value woman role. Very few people in my life know I’ve got low self-esteem because my acting is Oscar-worthy. I know how to make a man feel incredible but I also know how to make them think I’m incredible too.

I’m pushing mental snake oil upon the men I’ve liked. I have Imposter Syndrome: Romantic Edition.

When given a compliment on my appearance, my default is a “oh, it’s just a lot of makeup” quip. When someone tells me I’m smart, I retort with something stupid I did that day. When I don’t hear from someone, I play it cool when in reality, I’m freaking out.

I’m still dating Jeremy (cue the birds singing). We’re on month eight and I haven’t the foggiest idea what we are, relationship-wise. I attempted to solidify our formal relationship status but failed (another Medium story for another time). I decided that if there’s anything I know I’m good at, it’s having men fall in love with me.

Side note: yeah, it’s a low-key flex. But it only applies to guys I’m not interested in long-term. Which spurs their competitive streak and they work harder for my attention. I’m useless at most things I do in life, this is one random Love Resume point that has true skill.

I’m going to make Jeremy fall in love with me. Except I adore him, want him, crave him, and that’s like a top surgeon trying to operate during an earthquake. I’m great at making “fuck boys” fall for me but I’m deficient when it’s someone who has my heart in a chokehold.

Meanwhile, my insecurities grow. Why would someone that hot be into me? Is it because I slather twenty layers of makeup? That adds more pressure in the morning. He’s the only man I’ve slept next to since my ex-husband. I panic when I gain a pound of weight because he’s so damn fit and exercises for fun like a psychopath. I douse myself in self-tanner since I’m half-Indian and because I avoid the sun (my fear of aging), I usually look like a brown version of a ghost. Jeremy needs to think I radiate and glow.

Does this sound stressful? Yeah, it’s mother effing stressful.

Despite giving up on asking Jeremy to define our relationship status anytime soon, I need to set boundaries.

He’s inconsistent when it comes to hanging out and communicating. My Anxious-Avoidance (aka Disorganized) attachment can’t handle not knowing if he’s ghosting me until he can dump me. Yesterday I melted down from his lack of communication combined with not seeing him for two weeks.

I need to get a grip. Imposter Syndrome comes to the forefront as I tell myself that tonight, I’ll tell him that I need consistency. Anyone else with healthy self-esteem would have no problems advocating their needs. Not me. I grew up having no rights to emotions, autonomy, or anything else in my life.

In my mind, this is how it’ll play out this evening:

I’m meeting him after a work dinner by the ocean (ugh, I need to create a strategy for frizzy hair). This annoys me already because that’s a long trek for me. We’ll grab drinks. Once I’ve got enough liquid courage, I’m going to give my spiel.

“So, I’d like to think I’m not high-maintenance, right? But can I speak to the manager of the Jeremy Enterprise for a moment?” My attempt at levity.

“You’re the kind of guy who is a creature of habit. You’ve had the same job since college. You were married for over twenty years. Your friends know you’ll play pickleball or host poker every week with them. Your kids know they can depend on you to be there for the millions of sports they play.”

Will I start rambling at this point? Yup.

“Everyone in your life knows they can depend on you because of your predictability. And it’s not a bad thing. You’re not going to randomly yell, ‘let’s go to Vegas!’ on a Wednesday. You know if you need to fall asleep that you can watch a documentary. Your guilty pleasure is greek yogurt with fruit.” (Side note: yeah, this fucker eats healthy even when being bad. Who doesn’t eat a box of cookies when overindulging?)

“You are so consistent with everything and everyone in your life.” Pause for dramatic effect. “Except me. I know that when we’re with our kids we’re incommunicato, that’s totally cool. Same with family trips or busy work weeks. Tottallllyyyy get that. But when life is normal, you flip between texting me constantly and always wanting to see me, to complete incognito and I have to ask if you’re tied up in a white van.”

Will I even get this far? Or will I crack sooner and brush this aside? I hope to continue.

“It seems that I’m the one outlier when it comes to consistency and dependability. Which then makes me feel like I’m incorporated on a whim. And being a whim can feel…not so pleasant.”

This is where I give a cutesy and apologetic look to Jeremy, to reduce any chance of confrontation. There was a time in my life when I would have bulldozered this conversation. Years of battling with my ex-husband have me terrified of anything that causes an uncomfortable situation.

“I’m not saying that you need to dedicate more time to me. I’m not saying that I need to be moved up in the hierarchy of your life. I’m just saying that if all you can do is one text a month, then stick with just one text a month. It’s jarring to be swung in different ways, especially when I know that you’re dependable to everyone else who knows you.”

Yeah. It’s a lot. Hence the alcohol component.

In reality, I shouldn’t be nervous. It’s been eight months of dating. I’ve earned the right to demand this.

It’s not the content that’s the issue. It’s confronting someone to say, “I deserve better”. It’s like demanding a raise or higher salary when you suffer from Imposter Syndrome. My MO is that I’m the Cool Chick who is laid back and fun. I’m the opposite of anyone’s ex-wife by aiming for the perception of happiness, laughter, and loads of sex.

The biggest fear is rejection. Jeremy is a sweet guy so even if he disagreed, he’d nod his head in agreement. His lack of actions afterward will affirm or reject my deep-rooted fear that I’m not worthy of better treatment.

If things don’t change, will I have the courage to end things? I adore the hell out of him and want a future together. But if I stick with my divorce theme of living a life of authenticity, I can’t continue in a relationship (no matter how charming or handsome the man is) where my stomach is in knots. I have to accept that being authentic to myself means sticking to my guts and not sticking around when I feel worse about myself.

When I confronted my ex-husband about his massage parlor happy endings, it wasn’t the massage itself that angered me. It was my extreme fear of confronting him and him turning it around on me, despite that I was 100% in the right for my feelings. It wasn’t lost on me that there is a serious problem when he committed the crime but I’m terrified to confront him because of his reaction.

Much like the career world, tonight is fake-it-till-you-make-it. I’ll pretend I’m a high-value woman who is a total catch. But will I have the courage to ask for my needs to be met in fear that if Jeremy rejects me, it’ll validate my self-perception of being unworthy of love?

Like I said…tonight’s situation will need alcohol.