Coping With ‘the Impostor Syndrome’

It’s hard at times being honest with words when you’re writing a journal to be read by many people. I want people to like me and respect me and to think I’m a pretty cool guy, too. As much as anything, I want people to believe I am a strong person, a person who is in control of his life. My fantasy has people thinking, “Wow! If only I could be like him.”

Because I am a good actor, some people do see me in this wonderfully artificial light, and because I’m no fool, I don’t discourage this image. A nice compliment or two--or a hint of respect for my efforts at hunkification--is worth at least 2 inches on my biceps.

But the truth sometimes catches up with me. I am still a terribly insecure person in my deepest emotional recesses and am subject to mood swings. If my writing isn’t going well, or if a person reacts to me in a less than satisfactory way, or if I think too much about the past, I drop into a funk about 10 feet deep, where I stay, emotionally isolated, for a day or two. It is very lonely in there.

I’m telling you this because I returned to the island feeling rather down and primed for a major funk. This one, oddly enough, was brought on by good things.

My year is progressing so well it scares me. You may be familiar with “the impostor syndrome,” in which people never feel they deserve their success and are constantly made guilty by it. I’ve certainly been one of those people.

Today, when the funk began, I decided not to give in to it. I first fought it with exercise. I rode my bike four miles to the gym at my fastest pace rather than moseying along. After a mile, I was sweating and breathing hard. When I arrived at the gym, I rested for a few minutes and then had one of my hardest workouts.

I even worked myinjured shoulder pretty hard and felt no pain. Normally, when I’m depressed, the last thing I want to do is move, much less exercise. But I can’t begin to tell you how satisfying my biking and workout were simply because I had to fight to get through them.

As I started to leave, Jonas, the gym manager, was dancing to music that was playing, oblivious to those around him. I have always wanted to be an effortless dancer and, without thinking, I stopped just long enough to imitate his effortless movements. When he and I caught my awkward attempt in a mirror, Jonas laughed and asked me if I had a cramp. He has agreed to give me disco lessons.

I whistled a lot on the way home. Because my mood was improving, I decided to take the long route, about six miles. Less than half the way home, I saw a biker in front of me with long, flowing blond hair, and as she turned onto Midshipman Way I recognized her--Pam Ferguson, out with her baby for their daily ride. Pam and her husband, Ollie, were two of my first friends on Grand Bahama many years ago when I came here for vacations.

Ollie is a diving supervisor at the Underwater Explorers Society. The two are young enough to be my children and energetic enough to be the death of me--I used to think.

Depression or not, my energy level is a lot better these days, so I pedaled quickly up to her, doing my best not to look winded. Before I could say “Hi,” Pam spoke. “Remar! Boy, is it good to see you! I’m feeling down today, and needed to see a friend.”

I echoed her feelings, and for 30 minutes we biked along Midshipman, then down Sunrise, neither of us talking about our depression, but both of us feeling better simply for the chance to be with someone we knew would accept us, funk or not.

I returned to my house feeling pretty good. My exercise had been better than any pill out there for depression. And my conversation with a friend had placed some perspective on my mood. Then I received my first batch of mail from those of you who read my journal.

I can’t tell you how much your honesty and support in those letters is appreciated. It’s as powerful as a good bike ride and many good conversations.

A number of letters also touched on the insecurities and depression we all feel at times about our bodies and our own self-esteem. But the letters prove that none of us are really working alone, no matter how lonely or cold we may feel on that early-morning jog or bike ride or how exposed and isolated we may feel in the gym.

There is an unseen community of Body Worriers determined to do something to improve themselves--and busy doing it. That gives me an added boost. I hope this journal gives you as much.

If you’re the type of person who stops moving when you feel depressed, try some of the following tips:

--Be active. Call someone. Go someplace or write a letter. Break out of the mold: If you never take in a movie or go out to eat, go do it.

--Acknowledge you feel depressed; say it out loud to a friend, but don’t dwell on it.

--Finally, keep your perspective. Do something for somebody else. Get out of yourself.

Progress Report

Beginning 13th Week Waist: 43 inches 34 inches Right biceps: 12 3/4 inches 12 inches Flexed: 13 inches 13 inches Weight: 201 pounds 170 pounds Height: 6’ 1” Blood pressure: 128/68 128/70 Pulse: 64 62 Bench press: 55 105 Hunk factor: .00 .22