“Yeah, um, I think it was good… she kicked my head in.”
I had just left a job interview of sorts and that was the description I gave to my wife as I stumbled figuratively and literally through the streets of Leeds, fleeing my assault.
My assailant? A very nice, honest and ultimately supportive Geordie lass who worked in recruitment and wanted to help me find some more writing gigs.
It all started fine. My interviewer (who shall remain anonymous for protection, mostly mine) called me a “deep-thinker” in regards to my degree and said I was nice and easy to get on with. She was impressed I started my career writing comics at university, slowly moving out of retail and bar jobs and into part-time journalism, then eventually full-time freelancing.
“It wasn’t the first time I’d been called out for impostor syndrome”
We chatted and got on. She quickly figured out my strengths (that I could actually write) and understood what I really wanted (money, and to never have to go back to dealing with the general public every day). It was an honest and unpretentious interview. It couldn’t have been any better. Just my CV to get through and-
“This needs a lot of work. I can’t do anything with this.”
I tried to interject with a humble confession of struggling with CVs – a wet paper bag of a defence easily pierced by her shrewdness. Her accent did not soften the blow.
“Y’know what I see. I see someone who has no confidence in themselves. You think you’re not a journalist because you studied philosophy, not journalism. You think you don’t belong. Well, I’ll tell you what, you need to need to get that out of your head because if you think that, everyone else will know that.”
This continued for some time.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been called out for impostor syndrome. My regular editor, friends and collaborators have all pointed out I have impostor syndrome, the feeling of not belonging in a particular profession while everybody else does.
“I’d been self-sabotaging as a result, refusing to apply for jobs having already written myself off as the worst candidate, starting pitches with 'sorry to bother you'”
I knew I was suffering a particularly strong bout of it having recently gone full-time freelance. I was working on a long comics project with help from a bloke off the telly and somehow found myself in a position of drafting a book proposal. All of which I was certain was a fluke.
I’d been self-sabotaging as a result, refusing to apply for jobs having already written myself off as the worst candidate, starting pitches with “sorry to bother you” (the quickest way to demonstrate a complete lack of confidence) and finding excuses to get out of local journo meet-ups for fear the real journalists would realise I’m just a silly culture writer and laugh at me when I go to the toilet for a quick panic attack.
But this was the first time someone told me impostor syndrome could hold me back. Normally, you’re told, “It’s just impostor syndrome, don’t worry, you deserve to be here.” This was the first time I was told, “Bollocks, it’s impostor syndrome, you’re knackered unless you get over it mate.”
I went home with my diagnosis and decided to get to the root of the matter. Deep thinking and philosophy didn’t help. Starting at first principles, “I think, therefore,” inevitably concluded with, “I am… a fucking fraud.” So, I did what all sound-thinking people do when trying to self-diagnose. I turned to the internet.
I ended up watching a few TED Talks about impostor syndrome. Autoplay takes me to some Australian tech bro. I’m sure he is nice enough in person but he says something irrationally annoying to me.
“I’m not saying working class people can’t be successful... What I am saying is working class folks like me are less likely to be successful and so we teach ourselves bad habits”
“Successful people are more likely to suffer from impostor syndrome.”
My first thought was ‘get in the sea, successful people are just more likely to have a platform to talk about their impostor syndrome’.
I started thinking about all the people who don’t get heard and about class. Now I’m not saying working class people can’t be successful, or even become tech bros if that’s how they choose to live their lives. What I am saying is working class folks like me are less likely to be successful (social mobility has stagnated in Britain) and so we teach ourselves bad habits.
Focusing on your accomplishments is the usual advice people dish out to would-be impostors but that ability was trained out of me when I was young. I grew up in a northern mining town. At school, any pursuit outside of rugby league was considered a flight of fancy fit for fair game. Want to be a writer? Yeah alright, soft lad.
Even if you could find avenues (and the money) to explore interests outside of comprehensive education, it just wasn’t worth making yourself a social freak.
Family encouragement wasn’t much better. I was the eldest of three to a single mum. School plays were missed and evenings were spent looking after my siblings. There was no time to do something for fun, to get good and confident at it. This is not a unique story where I grew up.
“I’ve learned that I’m hiding behind a fear of failure and looking ambitious – a mortal sin among the working class”
Not blaming my mum, mind. She worked hard to feed and clothe us and two of us made it to university. The other one, mum will have you know, help build the big Lidl by the roundabout.
Not to put too fine a point on it but in the working class, we teach ourselves to know our place: at the bottom. We have institutionalised impostor syndrome. Journalism is dominated by the middle class and while a lot of this job is who you know – an easy get out to give yourself for any apparent lack of success – if you don’t think you should be there in the first place, you’ll never have the balls to get to know the people you should. We need to invite ourselves in.
I’ve learned that I’m hiding behind a fear of failure and looking ambitious – a mortal sin among the working class – in front of people I’ve never met before.
The solution isn’t to assume everyone feels the same way, so impostor syndrome is fine; it’s to see that everyone else in the room is as likely to fuck up us as you and you’ve probably worked harder to get to whatever level you’re at. It’s petty but it’s honest.
Your experience and way of telling a story is as valid as anyone’s, you’ve just got to be cheeky enough to tell people they need to see it. Stop hiding behind faux politeness and safe modesty. You deserve to be heard, so get shouting arkid.
Rik Worth is a writer and freelance journalist. You can follow him on Twitter at @RikWorth
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