Adult Imposter Syndrome: What’s the “Right” Way to be Doing This?
Maggie Slepian
Like many people my age—your classic mid-range millennial—I’ve rarely felt like I’m doing it right. It doesn’t matter what “it” is. Whatever’s going on, I’m pretty sure I should be doing something differently, could be doing better. This has been a pattern pervasive in all facets of my life: from my career, to backcountry sports, to life accomplishments. I tend to tie my accomplishments to my sense of self worth, and even with that, it’s hard to feel good about them. There’s always something I could be doing better.
I started running in college. I got a job at a gym, and became friends with like-minded students. We ran on weekdays and went to yoga on the weekends. But no matter how much I ran, I didn’t feel like a runner. Other people ran farther, faster. More frequently. They ran marathons and won road races. Sure, I ran, but I wasn’t a runner.
When I graduated college, I began writing. I was writing and editing full-time, but my bylines weren’t in the upper echelon of national news outlets or literary publications. I might have been making a living as a writer, but I didn’t consider myself a writer. “I write for work,” I’d say, because it seemed less like a commitment than saying “Yes, I am a writer.”
By the time I had worked in the outdoor industry for five years, I still didn’t feel like I deserved a spot there. I had evidence and examples that I was accepted into the loosely defined social circle of outdoor media and long-distance hikers, but I still felt like an imposter. My associates at trade shows and conferences had started their own companies and nonprofits. They had hiked the Triple Crown, set records on America’s most famous long-distance trails, were making a living from being popular on social media. Backpacking and the outdoors were a major part of my life, but my only thru-hike was the Appalachian Trail, and each year, that accomplishment was further in my rearview mirror.
Limited self-worth can dull the shine of any accomplishment. Even if the feedback is all positive, if you aren’t feeling worthy, none of the external evidence can counter it.
These feelings stretch beyond career, social life, and the outdoors. They speak to something deeper and more intrinsic. Intellectually, we know the standard of success doesn’t hinge on one or two metrics. But even with this knowledge, it’s hard to separate what you want to be successful at to what’s expected of you.
In 2018, I achieved Success: Millennial Edition, when I somehow signed my name enough times to buy a house in a destination-y mountain town. Demand for my field of content marketing and outdoor editorials was at a premium (RIP my career, thanks 2020!), and I was cruising. Somehow, achieving these goals and arbitrary standards of success still wasn’t it though. I didn’t feel so much like an imposter at this point, but mostly confused. I had what so many people my age wanted. I owned property, I had a stable career trajectory where I worked from my couch a few days a week and did well enough financially to not worry. But I kept thinking: This is it? This is what people aim for? I felt like I’d reached the finish line of a race without realizing I’d entered. My younger sister and brother were in similar positions, and completely satisfied. They worked traditional jobs (where they had to be somewhere! Five days a week!) and both owned houses. They got two weeks of vacation time per year, and relaxed on the weekends. Once again, I felt like an imposter in my own life, but this time it was because I had done what I was supposed to, but still didn’t feel right.
So I started planning a PCT thru-hike. I thought that if I felt like a fraud in my general existence, maybe a second Triple Crown trail would at least make me feel more like I belonged in the backpacking world. As I’d often done before, I plugged an unhealthy portion of self worth and identity into this new goal.
Then 2020 happened! With the onslaught of covid and the dumpster fire of this year, my plans came to a screeching halt. As my travel and hiking plans disintegrated, I felt like so many other people with lofty 2020 goals: completely untethered with nowhere to put my energy. A few months later, I lost my job when the company couldn’t afford a full-time editor. From here, I had to really dig to maintain a sense of self worth not tied to external accomplishments.
Before my PCT hike fell through, I’d never encountered something being taken away from me. If I made a plan, it happened. If I set a goal, I’d eventually achieve it. This was completely out of my control, and I was left alone to face myself when my external achievements and goals were falling down around me. It’s been a learning process through this year, but has resulted in enough reflection to see the pattern I can trace back to when I started running in college. I’m nowhere near enlightenment when it comes to self worth, but bit by bit, being forced to slow down and accept that things are out of my control has been a blessing in disguise.
