IMPOSTOR HEALMENT

By Hajarah Adokutu

Do we ever stop feeling like we are novices, trying to mask our naivety with a calm facade? 

Maybe it is inferiority complex because I have looked around and seen expertise and experience, a superior being which lords over me. 

External validation might do the trick, if my work is also lauded, maybe ego will chase my imposter syndrome into the dark, into a dark cave it must never emerge from again. 

 

When faced with works which are better than mine, a green bile does not coat my tongue or eyes. I try to appreciate these works aloud because I knew time and knowledge I didn't have nor utilise was used. How can I hate on a work well done?

I have started reading widely, albeit for pleasure. I have read why the beginning is as important as the end. 

These books show no statue was birthed but carved. From an absurd form into a statue worthy of applause. 

Time was spent chiselling away blocks and shards, and expertise was needed to know which grove makes the eyes. 

With my squinted eyes, I presented my imperfect work to the blinding audience. I note not the applause which appreciates my passion but the disapproving and wandering gaze which looks over mine to someone else's work. 

I cower, trying to hide the betraying works which betrays my naivety. Instinctively I try to burn it, burn the traces of my crude beginnings. 

But what would I look back on when I am at the pinnacle? 

When ego shroud me, what would I look on to for humble breading?

 

So I repeat to myself “The beginnings are as important as the endings”

And I framed these amateur works of mine and hung them on the mantel. A sight to look up to, to see how far I have come, While I slave away and burn the midnight candle. 

The syndrome, a formidable opponent it is. Shying away from the burning light of learning, the tendrils of its whispers from the cave still tease the tiny hairs in my ears. Ears that will wiggle as an attempt to bat away the demotivating words. 

My zeal keeps the candlelight lit and its light will keep the dark at bay. 

Within me another hurdle arises. The  yearning for the pinnacle has turned to a painful craving, therefore I look up to the mantle, my eyes feeding on those humble breading of mine. 

      The chasm throbs and ebbs as the murmurs of a reminder tells me “The process is also as important as the end”.