This summer was the craziest summer of my life thus far. I had done two phone interviews for a job, both early on Friday mornings right after layout, delirious and out of my mind. Summoning all the luck in my lifetime (how I explained it to myself), I got this “Big-N” internship that was paying me crazy money to work on a real company problem and present it to really important people.
But why was this so crazy? For months after I got this internship, I couldn’t tell anyone. I told my close friends and parents, just so they would stop asking if I had found anything yet. But for anyone else, I really struggled to answer the most simple question ever, “Where are you working?” I couldn’t say it with confidence that I was working at Venmo; I danced around the question, gave vague responses like “at a financial company in the city.” Not because I wanted to hide the company, but because I desperately wanted to hide myself. I didn’t believe I was good enough or qualified, and that people were going to realize it.
After asking Google how to cope with my feelings of perpetual self doubt and anxiety, I found out that this kind of mindset is not just common for women, but very common for women in tech. It’s called “imposter syndrome.” It’s when someone thinks they don’t deserve the success or great things they have, that they have to work twice as much to prove their value and make up for it, and that their accomplishments are no big deal and something anyone could do, if they could do it.
For months, maybe even years, I told myself I couldn’t be the Editor-In-Chief. I knew how much I loved this club, I knew how much work I put in throughout the years, and I knew I had big goals that couldn’t get done otherwise. Still, I hesitated so much before running, because I didn’t know if I would be good enough. I couldn’t believe in myself. My friends even offered to run if I didn’t want to, which I found preposterous, so I decided I had to stop listening to my fears and just do it.
I think the way you’re raised affects everything. The fact that I don’t feel comfortable writing a statement without the disclaimer, “I think,” at the beginning, is one example. Another is when people (mainly men come to mind, from my experience) run for some sort of position of power on a whim, just because they can. Someone with imposter syndrome, even if they are certainly qualified, will contemplate 1,000 times whether or not they should even run, whether they are good enough, and what people would say if they decide to give it a chance.
I’m not sure if I’m doing a good job as Editor-In-Chief. I grew up learning that women should be nice, pretty, unassuming, soft-spoken. Smart, but not too smart, and to just do what you’re told. Being in charge is turning out to be the exact opposite. I don’t have the time to be pretty. I’m always low on sleep and eating cheap fast food just to save time and get everything I need to done. I have to be assertive and call the shots, otherwise I’m wishy-washy and too emotional. I have to be firm and confident, resolute in my beliefs when they are questioned. Essentially, I have to be everything I was taught not to be.
Those who follow The Stute closely know that last week was rough; not just administrators, but also students were upset with us, upset with me. As the person in charge, I couldn’t help but feel like all these things were all my fault, that I shouldn’t have assumed the position after all, and that someone else could have done a better job. These kind of thoughts only snowball until friends shake you out of it.
It took a lot of support from the people around me to realize which criticisms were valid and needed fixing, and which were unwarranted and out of line. I needed other people to help me stop beating myself up over things that weren’t my fault, because I’ve been taught to take the blame and apologize, even if it isn’t my fault.
Everyone has a different journey, some definitely more difficult than others. We can hide our true selves and be afraid of sharing our insecurities. This is so meta, but I never talked about my low self esteem and anxieties because I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. As president of two clubs, people ask me how I handle it all and if I ever get stressed or cry. I’m still only 20, so of course I do.
But without having more honest conversations, there’s no way I, or you, can surpass those weaknesses. There’s no way the people that care about you will know if you don’t tell them. You need to surround yourself with people that you care about and that care about you. People that want you to succeed and achieve your dreams, people that constantly remind you that you deserve everything that you have and more.
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