Note: Even though I was told not to touch my previous imposter syndrome post, it still won’t leave me alone. So here’s Imposter Syndrome part two!

“There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell I passed that exam…” I growled to myself as I got into my Xterra after taking my first Calculus exam. 

I immediately fired up the engine and turned the AC on full-blast to combat September’s unusual heat, then just sat in the Xterra for awhile to gather myself before driving. For the record, I wasn’t emotionally upset, if that makes sense. But my body and brain were both fried after all the effort I put into the exam, and I still had stuff to do when I got home. 

My calculus exam was given in two parts, much like all of my precalculus exams were. Unlike in precalculus, however, one part of the exam was done with a partner. I felt like I had to work and study extra hard so I wasn’t carried to a passing grade by my partner, who I thought was much better at math than I could ever hope to be. Even so, neither of us seemed to know what the fuck was going on during the partner part of the exam. Evidently, we’d both forgotten the Squeeze Theorem and how to do trigonometry. Towards the end, he wanted to leave two answers blank, but I decided to fill them in with answers I was almost certain were incorrect just to get a point or two for effort. 

During the non-partnered part of the exam, I felt almost completely lost while I did my best to reason my way through answers. I knew that Calculus would be one hell of a challenge, and it was (and is) a challenge I was willing to take on. But, holy shit! It was as though my brain completely forgot everything I’d studied prior to the exam, or so I felt anyway. 

To calm down my thoughts before they got too out-of-control and convinced me to drop out of college, I decided to type out my immediate thoughts on my phone before I put the Xterra in reverse and headed home. By doing so, I was able to get my anxious mind to shut the fuck up, and I ended my mini-rant with, “You did your best, and that’s all that matters.”, which referenced a sticker I’d stuck to my dashboard specifically for days like that. 

Of course, even though I’d done a very good job implementing all of the anxiety management tools I’d learned through years of therapy, I spent most of my day wringing my hands, anxiously waiting for the exam results to come through. And, they did that same day, thankfully. 

80%. I got an 80% on the exam, uncurved. Holy shit!

I’d done all of that worrying and self-bullying for literally no reason. Well… other than because I had (and still have) very little confidence in my ability to be a successful college student (or successful anything, really). 

Logically (as usual), I knew that I’d probably pass the calculus exam because I’d done all of the right things prior to it: I studied a couple hours daily (for both Calculus and Biology), did all of my homework, took very good care of myself, and was thriving overall. Yet, my emotions (AKA my heart) refused to accept the empirical evidence that I was (and am) doing very well in college, and would likely do very well in university and the workforce as well. Go figure. 

In other words, I logically know that I’m not an imposter of any kind. I can’t fake my grades, or my work ethic, or the progress I’ve made since high school. I know, logically, that I’ve been doing my very best all throughout my life, and that effort has paid off big-time. And it will continue to do so, so long as I continue doing my best. 

Emotionally, however, I still feel like I don’t belong where I am today. I feel like there’s been some massive mistake: like I was supposed to die a long time ago, didn’t, and now… I’m here (weighing in at 140 pounds and with an FEV1 Lung Function of 125%, as of today). And I’m woefully unprepared to live the life I currently live, or for what lies ahead. 

Logically, I know that none of that’s true. Logically, I know I’m supposed to be here. That God’s got me right where He wants me to be. If I wasn’t supposed to be here… well… I simply wouldn’t be. Let alone be as healthy as I am today. 

I know that my future’s far more bright than it is bleak, so long as I continue to do my best at everything I do, and prioritize my physical and mental health. I know that I can achieve almost anything I want to, given I put my mind to it and do the work necessary to achieve that goal. I know that, unless some freak incident happens, I’ll live a long, fulfilling life. I know, I know, I know…

And yet, my heart just can’t accept reality. Why can’t it?

It’s not because of the way that I dress, or the music I listen to, or the interests I have, or the dreams I’m slowly building and striving for. My Imposter syndrome comes from much deeper places. Places likely rooted in my endless list of childhood traumas I love to ignore/downplay, because… well… it could be worse, y’know? 

Certainly, it could be worse. It could be way worse. But, that’s not important, especially since I’ve lived through many “worst-case” scenarios. What’s important is the fact that the things I’ve been through have impacted me as much as they have. 

I grew up with a constant supply of cortisol and adrenaline running through my veins. I grew up being told by some of the best doctors in the world that I wouldn’t survive past (insert any age here). I grew up in a chaotic, broken household, and jumped around from school-to-school so many times that I’ve lost count. If I’ve learned anything from the Psychology classes I’ve taken in college, it’s that I lived a textbook “shitty childhood”, which is so hard for me to accept. Because… well… it could have been way worse. 

Unfortunately, however, I had more than my fair share of moments in life that, had things actually gone any worse, I’d be dead. Sure, I didn’t grow up in a warzone. I didn’t grow up around people who were capable of murder. I attended relatively safe schools and lived in relatively safe neighborhoods (for the most part). But I was still fighting for survival as my very body was (and kind of is) incompatible with life. Indeed, the two things standing between me and mortality are medical and Divine interventions. 

That’s why, today, despite the empirical evidence showing that I am healthy, and I will remain healthy for a very long time, I still feel like the other shoe’s gonna drop any second; that I’m merely bullshitting myself into believing that I’m as healthy as I am. One day, sooner than later, I’m gonna pick up an incurable super-virus or bacteria, or my pancreas will finally shut down, or I’ll end up with colon cancer, and that’ll be it! 

In other words, I don’t just feel like an imposter in college. I feel like an imposter in life as a whole, because my brain literally grew up believing I’d be dead by now. Nowadays, I’m having to do the hard work of slowly changing my beliefs, so that I may one day accept, in my heart, that I’m just as healthy and just as worthy to pursue ambitious goals as everyone else. That I have, indeed, beat the odds and by the grace of God, will continue to do so for a very long time. 

Unfortunately, changing one’s beliefs takes a lot of courage and hard work. In order to believe I’m just as healthy as everyone else, and I don’t need to live life like I’m dying anymore, I have to take very good care of myself to maintain the health I’ve got now. 

Basically, I have to live as though I’m healthy to be healthy, even though I don’t always feel that I’m healthy. 

I have to eat right, exercise daily, maintain a solid sleep schedule, take my pills, go to my doctors’ appointments, go to therapy, etc. to stay healthy. Sure, I can have a soda every now and then, and my exercise routine doesn’t have to be nearly as insane as a body-builder’s. But, I still have to follow my strict routines and diet the vast majority of the time to stay healthy, which is true for almost everyone. 

The same principle applies to college. 

I may not feel like a college student. I may not feel that I’ve earned the grades I’ve earned or learned as much as I have. I may feel incredibly fucking stupid every time I take an exam, write a paper, or dare to ask a question in class. But, regardless of my feelings, I still have to live as though I am worthy of my GPA, and I am as intelligent as my professors and peers (as well as my family and friends) suggest. I still have to ask my “stupid” questions, write my “terrible” papers, and take those exams I’m always certain I bombed. I can’t quit college simply because I feel like I should. 

Because, logically I know (thanks to the overwhelming evidence I have) that I belong in college.