Imposter Syndrome--Najm

 

“Are you sure that you’re ready to skip the eighth grade?” my middle school principal

asked. All of the eyes in the room stared into my soul as if they were trying to extract an answer

from my silence. I looked to my parents for guidance but heard nothing. Even though I was only

a seventh grader, I would have to take control of my own future.

I knew that this was the perfect opportunity for me to advance my education. Up until

that point, each weekday felt the same: I would go to school, rot in my chair as the teacher spent

hours teaching something I had already understood in the first few minutes, go home, finish my

homework in under an hour, and play Super Mario video games until dinnertime. You may roll

your eyes when I say this, dear reader, but the monotony of my life trapped me in a prison and

left me with no sense of purpose. By skipping a grade, I would finally break out of that prison

and find something to struggle for.

However, a dark question lingered at the back of my mind: was I really deserving of the

abilities that allowed me this opportunity? Since I was a small child, everyone always talked

about how God had blessed me with the gift of intelligence. It was only at this point that I started

questioning why He had done it. What did God see in my character that led Him to grant me this

gift? I wanted to explore this question further, but a gentle nudge from my mother brought me

back to my principal’s question. I responded with a “yes,” and everyone in the room cheered. It

was set in stone: I would start my freshman year at Etiwanda High School in the fall after

seventh grade.

Little did I know that those questions formed the fertile soil that permitted the seed of

impostor syndrome to plant itself inside of my mind. Perhaps God didn’t give me the gift of

intelligence; rather, the devil deceived myself and others into believing so. This seemed like the

only logical conclusion to me since I couldn’t think of a reason why God wouldn’t give it to a

more deserving person. I started to believe that, if I fell for the devil’s delusion, God would

expose me as a fraud for my arrogance. This paranoia was worsened by others calling me the

“smart kid;” while it seemed like a compliment to an outsider, it piled on psychological pressure

in my mind and deepened my fear of being exposed as a fraud. When I saw smiles on the faces

of the teachers that handed me awards, I wondered when they would turn into disappointed

frowns. I also became afraid of getting to know others since they only seemed like more people I

would let down one day.

The supposedly powerful mind that got me here in the first place now made me believe

that I had no right to stay. Of course, there was no going back to the previous grade; my

circumstances were now permanent. I spiraled into a dark period of self-conflict, unable to

decide how to move forward. One thing kept my hope afloat, however: helping others with

classwork. For some inexplicable reason, I lit up whenever someone called my name to assist

them with solving a math problem or understanding a scientific concept. The joy I would feel

when a peer finally moved past their cloud of confusion far outweighed any self-doubt I had.

Eventually, this desire to enlighten others moved beyond academic borders; I started teaching

others how to use the awesome technology of 3D printing that was available in our library and

proofreading position papers for my Model United Nations teammates.

As I helped more students out in new ways, I found that the darkness clouding my mind

began to recede. The true answers to those self-doubting questions I had asked myself finally

came to me. Before I even realized it existed, God had seen my intrinsic drive to help others

succeed and imbued me with the power of intelligence so that I could achieve my goals;

therefore, I was deserving of my accomplishments and abilities. The weed of impostor syndrome

that had matured in my mind now burned away in the blazing fire of my reignited soul, never to

be seen again. I was finally free.

Perhaps the most interesting part of this story is the fact that the answers to my doubts

were present from the beginning. In Arabic, my name means “the star of guidance;” though it

seemed coincidental, it actually served as a prophecy of the person I would eventually become. If

I had chosen to listen to the doubts that once poisoned my mind and not skip a grade all those

years ago, I would have never fulfilled the purpose foretold by my name. With a better

understanding of who I’m meant to be, I now aspire to use my power for the advancement of

humanity one day. Whenever I feel like giving up, I remember the mission that God gave me: to

serve His creation, and to serve it well.