I’m sure I’m not the only therapist who suffers from Impostor Syndrome (a psychological pattern in which an individual doubts their accomplishments and has a persistent internalized fear of being exposed as a "fraud") when first starting. After four years of grad school, I still didn’t feel ready to actually sit in front of people and tell them how to make their lives better (who the heck was I to do that??).
At my first therapy site, Head Start, I began doing observations of children to determine who might benefit from mental health services. I observed throughout the day, noting children who had a difficult time with transitions, conflicts with other children, etc. It was important also to observe lunch; but, as is often the case with children, it’s hard to observe and not get involved. At lunch, the children begged me to sit next to them, encouraging me to take a plate so they could serve me food. The teachers allowed it, and I began eating lunch with them (I wanted the children to feel comfortable with me instead of like I was just observing their behavior; and, let’s face it, I was hungry).
One day, I was slurping down my spaghetti, laughing and talking with the children and teachers, when I saw a group of adults enter. They were site supervisors, making their rounds to check in on the classrooms. I froze, petrified that lI would appear unprofessional, and watched their movement out of the corner of my eye. I could see them eyeing me, and heard them ask a teacher who I was. They walked around slowly, finally coming up to me, while I frantically fiddled with my pen and notebook, pretending I was hard at work. They introduced themselves and asked to speak with me outside. This is it, I thought, this is how my therapy career ends. Fired over spaghetti.
Once outside, they’d hardly shut the door when I was nervously starting to explain what I was doing. They said they were aware I was the onsite therapist and started asking me what I’d been observing. At first, I thought they were testing me, but as I shared my observations, I thought I was picking up on nervous behavior on their part. They asked if I saw any problems with the classroom environment, or if I had any suggestions on what they could do to improve. At this question, I was sure I noticed some nervousness on their part. Then, it hit me — in their eyes, I wasn’t the 27 year old, slurping down spaghetti when I should’ve been working; in their eyes, I was the mental health professional who was there to observe their classroom. They were trying to impress me! I sighed a deep sigh of relief, gave my ‘expert’ opinion, and they left. I laughed it off, memorializing this moment as the moment ‘Valerie the Imposter’ died, and ‘Valerie the Mental Health Professional’ was born.