How is it that the subject is the kind of being who can be exploited, who is, by virtue of its own formation, vulnerable to subjugation? Bound to seek recognition of its own existence in categories, terms, and names that are not of its own making, the subject seeks the sign of its own existence outside itself, in a discourse that is at once dominant and indifferent.
– Judith Butler, 1997. The Psychic Life of Power: Theories in Subjection.
Imposter syndrome has been getting the better of me recently. I’ve been ridiculously preoccupied questioning the who and what I am, that I haven’t taken note of all that I actually do. It’s frustrating because it contradicts my entire philosophy. As someone who has never felt the need to overly define myself, why has the need to have a respected personal and professional identifier overtaken every aspect of my life?
It’s often said the more you read and write, the less you actually know. Or something like that. I think that can be said for personal works of writing and reflection too. In what I can only describe as an existential crisis, I’ve realised how important it is (for me) to be taken seriously. After a series of continuing difficult situations across the year so far, I’m beginning to get a sense that I’m rarely taken seriously at all.
I’m acutely aware of my own novelty and the apparent exoticisation of my own being. Always the breath of fresh air. The disruptor. They feel like identities others have of me that I should be playing into. They become a stifling expectation rather than an expression of credit. Partly also why I query my ability to be taken seriously, because I’m tired of being the wildcard.
This quandary seems like a startling contradiction given my whimsical and self-deprecating modes of expression, paired with the dry flippancy of my eccentric social media projections. Why do I care so much about the need to be taken seriously, when it’s rooted so deeply in the discursive constructions of our subjectification (and subjectivation)? When I know that, to put it crudely, it’s a load of sodding bollocks? I rarely take myself seriously. Perhaps that’s the problem.
Poorly timed humour aside, I cannot ignore my human desire to care and belong, despite what appears to be a surface level politicisation and rejection of personal definition. We know our sense of identity is fluid and wonderfully complex, and yet we cannot ignore that to some extent, our personal definition plays a huge part in the way we find our place and meaning in the world.
So with all the PhD reading I’ve thrown myself into, I’ve considered what my own identity and subsequently, what my personal position means within the context of my proposed study. I’ve been questioning why I suddenly feel so inauthentic, so unsteady and unsure of myself. That my imposter syndrome may run deeper than repeated rejection, structural inequalities and a lack of self-confidence. It runs deeper than knowing I am an academic outlier, despite my reservations with the term. It’s self-subjugation.
I’ve concluded that all of this culminates into what may be my first experience of fear when it comes to embracing my difference. It seems to intensify as I get older and as I find spaces which are more comfortable than others. Fear of cocking it up. Fear of others seeing my ugliness. Fear of losing a space. That safety and acceptance suddenly feeling incredibly unsafe as I question individual motives.
I am constantly challenged in this way of thinking – at least when I’m open to acknowledging it. A select few have boldly accepted my difference even during my worst moments, and I couldn’t be more grateful for their patience. Reluctantly, in receiving compassion, respect and acceptance, I’ve realised how important it is to ‘show up’. That in order to honour a deeply personal piece of work, requires the authenticity of continuing to show up.
The risk of bold authenticity requires care for and of the self. And to some extent, caring for the self is rooted in the need to remove the self from further self-inflicted subordination. It’s about being and doing as opposed to a preoccupation with becoming. And in doing that has to pierce these shallow typologies whilst straddling the threshold of personal and professional ways of being.
To bring myself closer to the values and schools of thought I organically drift towards, I need to fear less about what I am in the eyes of myself and others, and concentrate on what I do for myself and others. Also, to truly consider my own position in the context of my proposed study, requires a deeper understanding of my own subjectivation and when it borders on objectification, regardless of how uncomfortable it is to sit with that sometimes.