Summary

The article criticizes the "Fake it 'til you make it" philosophy, suggesting that it promotes a dangerous facade of confidence and competence that can lead to isolation and mental health issues.

Abstract

The author, Jennifer J. McDougall, presents a candid perspective on the popular adage "Fake it 'til you make it," arguing that it is not only ineffective but also harmful. Through personal anecdotes, McDougall reveals the dissonance between her perceived success and the internal struggles she faces, such as the pressure to maintain a well-kept home, raise well-mannered children, and excel professionally. Despite appearances, she describes herself as "treading water," overwhelmed by life's demands and the expectation to appear flawless. The article emphasizes the importance of authenticity and the need for support systems that recognize and address genuine challenges rather than perpetuating a culture of pretense.

Opinions

The author believes that the "Fake it 'til you make it" approach is misleading and prevents people from seeking and receiving genuine help.
McDougall suggests that pretending to have it all together can lead to a breakdown, as it suppresses true feelings and ignores the messages conveyed by those feelings.
The article argues for transparency and authenticity, asserting that our world needs real connections and understanding rather than facades of perfection.
The author points out that "fake confidence" creates a "fake you," and that it's essential to acknowledge and address the uneasiness and hesitations one might feel instead of ignoring them.
McDougall criticizes the societal pressure to meet unrealistic standards, likening it to the disappointment of butternut squash not living up to its name (no butter, no nuts).
The article concludes that the "Fake it 'til you make it" mantra is not only ineffective but also detrimental to mental health and well-being.

Fake It ‘Til You Make It Is Dangerous Advice

It’s killing us all

“Butternut squash is a real let down. No butter, no nuts, just squash.”

Fake it ’til you make it. Like squash. Stick with me. It will become as clear as gourd goush.

The world thinks I’m pretty damn decent.

My house has only a few centimeters of dust lingering about and my toilets would probably pass public health inspection. My teens’ lack of stench and cavities demonstrates my maternal ability to bribe them into hygiene. The food caught in my husband’s unruly semi-beard, along with my full pantry, is evidence of my culinary ‘prowess’. My phone regularly lights up with messages from friends around the world. Sometimes my stories make you snort milk out of your nose.

See. I’m pretty damn good. I have it together.

Fake it ’til you make it.

That’s what you think. That’s what my boss thinks — except when he’s scratching his chin wondering where my government-mandated reports and learning plans “disappeared” to. It’s what my neighbors, waving as I slide the blue box out to the curb, think. It’s what readers think when they scroll through tales of body bags found on my doorstep as I head out for my ‘easy-peasy’ 7km fun run.

Fake it ’til you make it.

Here’s the truth. Right now I am about three kleenex boxes away from a breakdown.

I am the squash with no nuts and no butter. I look damn yummy and you imagine I will help you have regular morning constitutions — but I am not what I appear.

To switch analogies — I am treading water. Great. Aren’t we all? My modest one-piece looks as respectable as the perfectly wrinkle-free swim cap. I am even — gasp — plastering a smile across my glowing-from-exercise cheeks.

But the water is rising. The pool noodle floated away long ago. My tired legs aren’t egg-beatering fast enough. I feel icy cold liquid sliding between my clenched jaw and back into my throat.

What you don’t see. The glass or two of wine I hide behind every night until escape fills my lungs and allows me to breathe. The phone screen I look at too often when I should be ingesting my teens’ animated tales of their day. The shower-bawling episodes stifled so my family won’t hear. The To-Do list, with fairly simple items, that remains unchecked.

You don’t observe the in-the-shed screaming and kicking — although you may notice the bruises since my snowblower didn’t appreciate the tire punt and fought back. How could you know that our cat hasn’t been to the vet in years?

Or that I desperately try to ignore my husband because I can’t bear to listen to one more repeated exclamation. A few days ago he was the main person twisting ornaments onto Christmas tree branches. Today he’s repeated at least 16 times, “Wow, you decorated the Christmas tree while I was out” — even when he hasn’t gone anywhere except to the bedroom to change his socks every hour for some bizarre reason.

Out of your sightline are my not-so-furtive hand-slides into chip bags and chocolate boxes.

Fake it ’til you make it. What a load of hoo-ey.

It’s stupid, dangerous advice. How can anyone help if they think your life is perfect?

What our world really needs is transparency.

“Fake confidence makes a fake you….All feelings are trying to tell us something…. Instead of allowing ourselves to feel uneasy, ‘fake-it’ advice tells us to ignore our hesitations, and keep going without resolving what our feelings may be trying to tell us.” Bonnie Ho

I’m not a butternut squash. Why would I pretend to be filled with nuts and coated in butter? Why can’t I just let the world acknowledge me for being the plain ole squash that I am?

Sure, I’ll make you crap to a daily schedule. That part is true. But the rest? The reality is that I’m plain, overly round, filled with sticky seeds, and not terribly yummy unless half a bag of brown sugar is tossed in.

Fake it ’til you make it.

It doesn’t even work for Butternut Squash. So give it up. It’s killing us all.

I Don't Ask What You Think Because I Don't Care

Since before my face was framed with gorgeous grey streaks, I've been begging my self-confidence to embrace fuschia…

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