i am unworthy
July 10, 2023
I said last time that I was constructing my sense of self as if working from a blank slate. That’s a lie. My experiences, skills, emotions, and biases are all etched into me. There’s no blank slate. I mean that it’s the interpretation of those I’m rejecting. I call those interpretations narratives. Most of the narratives that have pervaded the majority of my life have at their core untruths that I believed about myself.
Narratives we tell ourselves often have, at their core, untruths. Yet we believe them as genuine. I want to pause for a moment and let that sink in. Much of what we believe about ourselves is based on falsity.
I have been loosely using the term narratives for a long time. Recently I’ve found it to be a beneficial concept for understanding how we process the world around us, which helps us understand how we think. If the term passes right past you, think of it like the code of the Matrix. Once you recognize it, you see the world for what it is. And much like the Matrix, the narratives encode in us far more information than our brains can parse and consider. Taking most of that information as truth is more efficient, even when harmful. If you haven’t seen The Matrix, consider the following examples of narratives. “You have to go to medical school; nothing else matters.” “Follow your passion.” “You’re bad at math because girls are naturally bad at math.” “Beating addiction comes down to willpower. Relapsing means you’re weak.” “If you can’t do well at standardized tests, you will not be successful in the real world.” “Boys don’t cry.”
Accepting that narratives might be untrue gives me an immense feeling of freedom. As my default reality collapses back in on me, I’ll admit that it’s fleeting. For that moment, at least, there’s a sense of me without the burdens I carry. That gives me hope. The rest is hard work.
Let’s recount some of those untruths that burden me. First one: I AM UNWORTHY.
Wait, let’s stop there. Fuck! Even writing that weighs down my physical and emotional sense of being with a dreadful feeling. There’s a pit in my stomach. Even though I no longer believe that I am unworthy (mostly), it is interwoven into the fabric of my identity. I. Don’t. Like. That.
I’ve only recently identified this belief that I am unworthy as a source from which my narratives grew. It’s always been lurking and dictating my choices, always staying out of sight but ever ready to reach out and cut me down. It’s a hell of a lie to believe in, made even more frustrating because there’s no reason I should have ever bought into it. I grew up in a safe and loving home. My childhood was filled with joy, positive connections, supportive friends, and opportunity. No one ever told me I was unworthy. Except me. Why? Not sure.
But, boy, start pulling on that thread, and all sorts of narratives unravel. The primary narrative, which has shaped me at work and home, relates to imposter syndrome*. Namely, I felt like a fraud. I told myself I was a fraud. It’s the only thing that made sense to me. If I was unworthy (though I hadn’t named this feeling yet) and experienced success, either as accolades or a promotion, then the only reasonable explanation was that I was a fraud. Which meant it was only a matter of time before someone found out and the whole house of cards came down. This was true in personal and romantic relationships as well. If a date went well, I was shocked. That was quickly followed by the anxiety of a second date and a chance the true me would show through, leading to the inevitable show of disappointment on her face. Anxiety is a bitch.
I could have questioned the underlying assumptions of unworthiness and instead used my successes as proof of my abilities. Unfortunately, for every piece of evidence on the side of worth, I could devise much more evidence of my failures. Think of these likes muscles. The ones you exercise grow stronger while the ignored ones are diminished.
It doesn’t matter how the narrative of unworthiness started. Once I latched onto it as an appropriate rationalization of my experience, I layered it in supporting narratives that grew in power. Finally, when you have a tall stack of provenance, you don’t even think to question their origin.
What changed? I’ve been practicing self-awareness recently, but I’ve always been very self-aware. That wasn’t enough, especially given the depth of lying to myself. My whole thinking changed after hearing someone say, “You can put down stories that don’t serve you anymore and don’t feel like the real you.” Right there. The introduction to the idea that we are not our stories. Our identities arise from these stories, but not all represent the truth. Often, these stories come from other people and are impressed upon us, whether intentional or well-meaning. Your parents. Your grandparents. Your siblings or peers. Your teachers, guidance counselors, and coaches. Your teammates. Your boss or your coworkers. Your lovers. Everyone is happy to tell you, for good or for bad, who you are — handsome, beautiful, strong-willed, stubborn, underachiever, lazy, genius, great example, poor example, a legacy, a letdown. But there’s only one source of truth.
I am interested in this: can you push all the narratives aside to get at the kernel of one’s true self? And can you do that, as I said last time, while eschewing the archeological in favor of the architectural? I believe so, or at least I believe we should try. It will require a dose of magic, but that’s a lengthy explanation for another entry.
I’ll start by accepting that not all narratives are true, and many are based on core untruths. I’ll start by setting down narratives that do not serve me. No further consideration is needed.
I start by removing the mask of imposter syndrome and leaving it behind me as I journey forward. I begin by reminding myself that I am worthy.
I start by asking, “Without the mask, who am I?”
Imposter syndrome:
the persistent inability to believe that one's success is deserved or has been legitimately achieved as a result of one's own efforts or skills [google].
a psychological occurrence in which people doubt their skills, talents, or accomplishments and have a persistent internalized fear of being exposed as frauds [wikipedia].