Me: The imposter syndrome is kicking in again
Therapist: Talk more about that, what does it feel like?
Me: I CAN’T DO IT, THEY’LL FIND ME OUT! I’ve been learning one way of doing things, but it’s the wrong way! It’s been the wrong way all along! I’ve tricked them into hiring me. I’m no good. I’m a no good cat.
Me: This big project is hard and scary. It’s big and hard and scary.
Therapist: You know why it’s big and hard and scary?
Therapist: Because it’s a real job. It’s an adult job. It’s a big, real, adult, scary job task. And you’re doing it. You’ve been doing it all along.
Me: I need a progress bar. A little progress bar above my head. So I can look at the little aqua blue filling to see I’ve made it this far, I guess, I’ve made it all that way, I guess I can make it a litte further.
Therapist: You can’t trick someone into thinking you’re better than you are.
Me: Are you totally sure, though?
Therapist: You know how to do all these things because you’ve been doing them, you’ve already been doing them, you’re a person that does them.
We go on a walk, I see some dandelions. I look over to them. Look at all those wishes. I imagine in a second, running down the hill. No, rolling down the hill. Maximum impact. I’ll roll them down all at once like a steam roller of wishes. And every wish would be the same. Later on our walk, Jason tells me that all he saw were weeds, and that I must have some special way of thinking.
I tell him not to put the plant in the car because it will be lonely.
I tilt my head at the cat and she tilts back.
I tell my therapist she must have an awfully long day listening to people, six or eight of us, all day long, a very long day. She gives me a funny smile.
Isn’t this just the way everyone is?
We’re working on writing a book, and I think of another one. I want to write a book about the way you see me and how it has made me see myself.