Recently I had a (very minor) twitter storm to do with some Fun Palaces work and some inclusion/exclusion stuff and I found it hugely painful, personally and regarding our work.
Partly it was painful because I felt (and continue to feel, as do my colleagues and those we work with) that our work was being misrepresented and (apparently willfully) misinterpreted. Partly it was painful because when Fun Palaces Makers responded, they were told they just hadn’t understood. Partly it was painful because what was being debated wasn’t what I believe and beliefs were being ascribed to me that weren’t mine.
Largely it was painful because I spend a huge amount of my life feeling like I don’t belong. Imposter syndrome sounds small and silly and easily dismissed. I feel it as intense shame. I feel it as huge anxiety, a churning in the centre of my body, a rising heart rate and chilled hands. I feel it physically and emotionally and spiritually. It’s real.
I know I am not alone. I think we all need to talk about it more.
I feel it because I grew up in a working class family. I feel it because I am queer. I feel it because I am a woman. I feel it because I am a middle-aged woman and therefore always more likely to be ignored, spoken over, unseen and not given voice on stage or screen. I feel it because I was not only the first in my family to go to university but the first in my family to be able to stay at school long enough to pass the exams to do so. I feel it because the life I live now is UTTERLY different to the one in which I grew up. I feel it because my childhood was not secure. I feel it because my teens were both agonising and the place where I formed some of the best friendships of my life. I feel it because I understand my own mortality differently since having two cancers, especially since the second one more recently.
I feel it because the work I do with Fun Palaces was not planned, was not part of a strategy, was not something I ever expected or even chose to do – it has grown exponentially because of demand, because of enthusiasm, because people love and want and value what we can offer, but I wasn’t really ready for that demand and enthusiasm, and it all took off during the second cancer anyway. I feel it because we struggle every day to do this work with a tiny part-time team, underpaid and underfunded – and do it anyway, with virtually no back-up, because we believe in the inclusion we are supporting people to create for themselves. And because it works.
I feel it because I’m 54. I feel it because I’m not a mother in a culture that both believes we’re only ‘real’ women if we’re mothers and simultaneously denigrates anything that women do, so denigrates mothering. I feel it because, at 54 and working since I was 17, I have never had a ‘proper’ job – ie the validation of someone else giving me work I didn’t have to make for myself (let alone the validation of someone else giving me sick pay, holiday pay, compassionate leave!). I feel it because I have always struggled with my body image and I continue to do so, so putting myself up for public view is always scary. I feel it because I will probably never succeed in writing as well as the ideas in my head and my heart, and yet I keep trying anyway. I feel it because although I did go to university I got a rubbish degree because I spent the whole time making plays (the making plays was a FINE training for a writer btw, but def not an academic one). I feel it because I am not very ‘well-read’ – no, I’m not sure what that means any more either, but I know that I’ve now got to the stage where I never ever pretend to know a word’s meaning or to have read a book we all ‘ought’ to have read, and that’s a relief.
I feel it because Fun Palaces is often (now) invited to sit at the table with organisations that are funded for several or many millions a year, because they want to know how we do what we do, how we achieve the diversity and inclusion we achieve, and I always feel like Cinderella at that table. (I am Cinderella, most of the other people at those tables are on full-time salaries in full-time positions with long-established organisations and our funding is miniscule, our organisation tiny, compared to so many. They’re much nicer than the stepsisters though.) I feel it because my mum and dad didn’t know what to wear to posh events and so I didn’t either.
I feel it all the time. And I do the work anyway. The book events and the keynote speeches about Fun Palaces and the equality events and the radio programmes and the workshops (writing and theatre and impro and Fun Palaces) and the panels and hosting Stonewall’s Equality Dinner and Open Space and hold space and the big posh meetings and the small vital meetings and the terrifyingly shiny parties. All of it.
I feel it while I wonder do I have the right to feel this, when OF COURSE there are many other intersections that would single me out even more – I am not a woman of colour, I am not disabled. I have a great many of the privileges of life in the UK in 2017. I feel it while I tell myself it is daft to feel this. I feel it when I admit it is my truth. I feel it deeply and with great shame because I cannot make it go away.
I am trying to feel it anyway. Despite. In spite of. I am learning to feel my uncertainty and insecurity anyway, even if it is hard to feel this way. I am admitting that I can feel this way AND do what I do, be as out there as I am, be as strong as (some) other people see me (and I rarely feel). I have a dream that if I can be all of me – the scared and the brave me, the quiet and the big me, the strong me and the hiding me – all at the same time, then maybe I can be more useful, create more value.
What helps? Therapy, yoga every day, running some days, chanting, being honest about what is – to myself as much as to others.
I know I am not alone. I think we all need to talk about it more.
(Yes, it is scary pushing the ‘public’ button on this.)
Oh Stella, I’ve read your blog posts for a while now and follow you on Twitter, but I’ve never commented or written to you before. But this post has made me cry. So brave (and your bravery always shines out to your readers, even if you don’t always feel it!), and so honest. It’s amazing when you do say this kind of thing because it matters, it chimes – YES, I feel that too. Thank you for writing, for keeping going, for being brave with this post.
Gemma x
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Gosh Stella, I admire you so much, and it is actually really validating to hear you experience impostor syndrome too… and this is a brilliant reminder that it don’t mean a thing. Whenever I think of you it’s a boost of energy – ‘hey remember how much Stella Duffy does! I better get cracking!’ Kudos to you for everything from Wellington, you got this xx
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thank you so much for saying so Gemma, xx
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hah Leonie! I love that I can be useful to you in that way – and you might also want to say “Stella Duffy thinks she needs to do nothing a bit more sometimes and is working on trying to do that too!” – no skill in it yet, but definitely working on it. I think I might have more energy if I also did some nothing sometimes. Give my love to Matariki (must be up now?) x
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Reblogged this on Pamela S Ball and commented:
Thanks to Stella Duffy for articulating what so many of us feel !
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Hi Stella, Just lost a long *beautifully written* message to you, whilst trying to log into wordpress… bah! But short version is – I think we can feel imposters whatever our backgrounds or education, often for good reasons (who wants to be part of those group rules?) and that’s often why we want to work creatively with ourselves and with others. I am considering getting involved directly in a Fun Palaces event in Bristol. Just am trying to square it financially but will hopefully find a way… I want to do it because I admire you and I believe in the principles. I know too that as soon as conflict arrives on the scene, all doubts multiply. I find them good indicators of what I need to do next to reinforce my stability. It sometimes feels a long hard road, but so worth it. x
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thank you Elspeth, very sorry about the lost reply! Do get involved in Bristol, there are at least two FPs pending with our FP ambassador Ellie getting them going, and another with the uni, so am sure there will be a way to take part. Contributing to a Fun Palace doesn’t need to take tons of time – you could even just help out on the day itself, as a way of getting involved. and yes, I think the ‘being outside’ is often why we (some of us) get involved with creative work. good luck to you. x
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Truth is I’ve never read anyone’s writing about themselves that touches me so personally as you Stella. Met you once briefly at DRM bash, you hugged me, made me feel less of an imposter that night! You are so generous with your honesty and openness there will be many who read this and feel a little more validated!
There could be a whole discussion on class-I know where I came from, and where successful hard work has brought me, and what my ethics and beliefs are but can’t label myself at all-interclass maybe???
Thanks once more.
Jakki (Hildadev)
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thank you Jakki/Hilda. x
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oH Stella I hear you, you echo so many of my thoughts too….I’m a freelance arts consultant, I desperately want to be a writer, I have my first photography exhibition on SATURDAY and I feel the fear all the damn time.
But one of the librarians in my local library asked me specifically if I could contribute anything to their Fun Palace this year and I practically jumped up and down and squeed and went on a little rant about how wonderful you are and how wonderful Fun Palaces was and I how I wanted to do one here a couple of years ago, but I didn’t have a venue and I got very sick.
I am so damn chuffed that they asked me to contribute something and that the librarian said she knew that I was the right person to ask!
oh and I read the Hidden Room in 2 days in a mix of ‘have to keep reading’ ‘can’t keep reading’ because I have to know what happens/ I can’t bear to read what happens next. So damn good. Would you believe me if I told you that I broke off reading it to write in my journal about how I am never going to be a good enough writer as this was so good? I promise I did.
I’ll stop writing now, but honestly this post resonates so much and I feel like an imposter all the damn time. I’ve got a meeting at ACE this week with one of my clients and I’m stressing about what to wear. FFS. I think there really is something about having parents who don’t know about this stuff and being the first to uni and all the rest of it that leaves a mark…
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thanks so much for this reply Jen – and you’re right, you will never write like me NOR SHOULD YOU, you will, and you do, write like YOU. and that’s huge. so important to be writing like you, to let the story find its own voice, to write as you. I’m delighted you enjoyed the book and very very happy FPs is giving you a place to shine. fantastic that the librarian recognised that you can contribute. and yes, so much of who we have been leaves its mark AND we can try to be who we are now, beyond all of that, or maybe including all of that. That’s my task now – being this Stella. thank you so much for getting in touch. x
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I so identify with this, Stella. I am a man but apart from that I know what you are saying. It’s like a nag that wont be put to bed.
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Hi Stella, you bravely pressed Send and sent off heart thumping little echoes of recognition in so many grateful imposters. Thank you. Not a small thing you did, a hugely generous , and courageous blog.
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This is very moving and such truth. Thank you for sharing.
Why does it resonate? Perhaps because we all feel this to an extent. Sometimes it is overwhelming and lonely. Sometimes it is desperate. Sometimes suppressed.
I used to feel it because I knew who I was and who I was, I thought, was a little different. A strength.
Now I feel it because I work hard and with middle management success – at something I don’t care about and people I don’t identify with. I feel it because I’d rather drink a cold beer than a fine wine. Drive an old mini than a Maserati.
I feel it because I should leave and live on less and be happier doing something I love – but I do not. Because that would cause friction and I have long since given up on decisions and turning my hopes into realities.
I feel it because I haven’t travelled far, or read a lot, or had many lovers or lived enough.
I feel it listening to a posh accent – even when it’s talking nonsense, but does so with confidence.
I feel it in restaurants – so I try to avoid.
I feel it because I am 50-ish, but sixteen inside. But look 50-ish and am tired and am not quite coming to terms with that reality. I feel it when going out is special and although it magical to be in exciting worlds – surely they are not for me.
I feel it because I am a repressed hugger. An enthusiast, an admirer, a dancer and a kisser – most of those lapsed or long forgotten.
I feel it because I do not believe I am a proper person – who has travelled far and read well and had many lovers and has lived. I feel it because I do a good impression and fool most of the people a good proportion of the time. But this takes energy and effort and the more I feel exhausted by it, the less I can convince myself.
I feel it because I am a man and I’m not ashamed to say I cry – films, x-factor, DIY-SOS, books and small animals. And I am a romantic – but tolerated I feel. A little curiously. At arms length. An anachronism. A fool.
I feel it because there were times when I felt crushed and crumpled. So in my 40s, I started to hit myself – nothing dangerous you understand, but enough to feel the physical humiliation to match the reality of those years. And although that is well in the past now, I feel an imposter because that is the stuff of imposters, not proper people. And in my estimation, I am diminished by my history and my shame. Not strong enough to think I was better than that. So if there were one last life-jacket as we sank, I would think that it should go to you. For you are far less likely to be as much of an imposter as me.
What helps? Lifting the lid in the written word – yours and mine and others. Being myself there too.
You are brave enough to put your name to this. Much love and respect for that.
But I am an imposter…
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thank you fellow Imposter, than you for saying these truths. I welcome the day when you feel able to post with your own name. xx
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thank you Sara, for saying so.
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it won’t. I think it needs us to shout and scream and yell it. and THEN put it to bed. until it wakes again. I think it might be our truths. x
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I liked the books of yours I have read. I think from what I can glean that you are admirable. Those nasty old anxieties are like angry ghosts from your past. I hope you can find a way to release them and the damage they still cause you.
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Thanks Stella for this honest, insightful and brave post. My other half and I were discussing imposter syndrome only last night as we both feel it too, for tons of reasons, many of which you’ve listed here so eloquently. I’ve told him to read this. You’re not alone, that’s for sure. I know I’ve said this to you before but you really are an inspiration. Keep doing what you’re doing, it’s all good! XXX
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thank you Bailey, I think many of them are new ghosts too, and ongoing ghosts – until we get to a world of equality, some of those feelings will always be valid. we’re working towards it though …
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lovely to hear from you Ann, and thank you, yes it’s all too very real for some of us. thank you x
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Hi Stella
Thank you for this post. I am 50. Your post describes me but I’ve achieved even less than you. My kids are now grown, having gone to prestigious universities and my husband’s career has grown and grown, whilst I have faded away, struggled to find and keep a job since the last recession hit us (2 redundancy and only contract work on offer afterwards) and now constantly fear redundancy and deal with anxiety on a daily basis. I am in a new job yet again and I am having to learn how to do it as it’s technically demanding. I ‘blag’ it at work everyday thinking my colleagues must surely know I haven’t a clue what I’m doing. I’d love to get involved in FP in my area but don’t know if you are as far south as Southampton area?
Thank you once again for writing this 🙂
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hi lookingforlara (Lara?) thank you for responding, I’m sorry you’re having a tough tie – and I know it can be hard to admit to not knowing, but I wonder if there might be at least one new colleague you can enlist as a supporter? worth a try?
as for a Southampton FP – there have NEARLY been many times, but not yet. (most of them are not in London, so it’s def not a distance thing.) I do know someone in Southampton who is interested – and can put you in touch? if you’re on twitter, I can do it there, if not I can do it by email. let me know. x
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Hi Stella,
I’m one of those full time people in a long established organization. I heard you spreak recently at Convestival, and I want you to know that though I didn’t speak with you directly – I wasn’t brave enough to join in with the audience participation bits! – I heard you. I heard you.
I then witnessed that twitter storm. I read as a journalist in a position of power bizarrely went after someone who would quite like everyone to have fun with art and science, in places where art and science might not always be, if they’d like to. My organization has a phrase ‘Forever, For Everyone’. I get a bit nerdy and emotional about it, and felt the same about your FunPalaces. It’s a beautiful concept, and if people with hate in their hearts don’t want people to have fun with art and science… well. Nolite te bastardes carborundorum!
With the imposter syndrome, I think we all feel it to different degrees. And I totally agree that allowing ourselves to feel it but carry on anyway is so important. Imposter syndrome tells us something about society, and how it needs to continue evolving. If a person feels they don’t deserve to belong, or to do things, or to try things… something is broken.
That being said, in my eyes…
You are not an imposter. You are a truth-talker. You say out loud what many don’t quite dare yet.
You are not an imposter. You are a truth-walker. You practice what you speak, and welcome people (and challenge them!) to do the same.
You are not an imposter. You are a powerful woman. Bravo.
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oh, thank you SO MUCH Foxsteps! I love that you were at the Convestival talk – I was extra honest/open that day too, and I think it really worked. scary but worthwhile if it helps to reach people and help us all feel a bit less alone. I love “Forever, For Everyone’. thank you. x
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Yes yes yes to all you say. I love your words. My own imposter feelings get triggered every time I think of my achievements past & present & wonder if it was all about being a token woman or token deaf woman (bonus ‘cos you can tick the disabled box too). Your honesty here is great to read and I enjoy reading about Fun Palaces too.
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thank you for saying so, x
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Oh honey – try not to be hurt by their nonsense. Some arseholes are just cruel because they can be. You are The Real Deal. this threatens some people. Sending much love to you, Gorgeous Creatrix Extraordinaire! xxx
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well, am pretty sure some of it is my nonsense too – ie, the place where I don’t feel I fit is something (with tie and effort) do something about. Other people wilfully & publicly misinterpreting me – that bit I can’t do anything about! thank you x
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I don’t know you, Stella, but I do know about Fun Palaces, because a project that I work alongside in Cornwall – FEAST – is part of that amazing idea. I think that you are right to say that we need to be much more honest about imposter syndrome – it is debilitating and stomach wrenching and makes you question everything about your life. I’m not sure if it goes deep back into our childhoods – I’m no psychologist – but I do wonder if that is where it can begin for some people. All I would like to say to you, personally, is that you are evidently a brilliant, strong woman who is managing to bring people together to be creative and there is nothing more valuable and powerful in life than creativity – for everyone! x Jane
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ah, Jane, thank you so much. we love that FEAST are part of this work, and bringing a brilliantly Cornwall-specific approach, lots for us to learn from each other. And yes, the more honest we can all be – with kindness if possible! – the better. thank you.
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Thank you for this . It deserves a wide readership in the arts, in academia, in education. You connect several issues about how institutions invisibly but effectively work to disempower people, as well as so movingly describing what this feels like personally. Fun Palaces is a fabulous alternative to the patriarchal structure .. and you are wonderful Stella!
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Thank you Alison, And yes, I agree that there are so many invisible structures (based on patriarchy, capitalism, white-preference, ableism ETC) that prevent so many of us soaring as high as we could AND contributing as well as we could. I do believe that noticing it helps make change.
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Hi Stella, I think I just shared something with you – Not Worth The Paper I Am Written On.
Just to add, don’t feel you have to post – although you can if you’re minded. It wasn’t about sharing my words on your platform, it was the best way to describe when I feel on top of the world, I’m still waiting to be outed as an imposter.
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Hi Stella, Just to share that I write and tell stories to audiences. It’s terrifying but the best thing in the world. Where I am at my bravest and most vulnerable. I receive some lovely comments – warm, genuine and toe-curlingly embarrassing of course. Like most writers and artists I suspect – I’m waiting to be found out. Of that, these are my truest words…
NOT WORTH THE PAPER I AM WRITTEN ON
Words and deeds, as far apart as the grass and the centre of the Earth
I try my best, so what you see is acceptable
You may even wish to step onto my lawn, for a dialogue, a scene
Maybe a verse and a song, although songs get me into trouble
At work, at play, here today, you see the best of me
Which is not to say it’s great, just the most that I can be
I am represented well, by the words I put to page
And love with all my soul and more, the telling from a stage
As I share my truth and vulnerability, I am the happiest of fools
Not brave, because I have no guts
But felt, because my heart is big
I think I am a bearded lady, at times I fear with breasts to match
(I really should go to the gym!)
I have female intuition, but not the wisdom or the strength to don a dress
And men…they’re not my thing
I feel a fraud, a fake, a lie waiting to be unfurled
A disappointment that time, and time alone, will confirm
With such inevitability, it is solid and heavy
And as it slows me up, don’t let it weigh you down
Do not be charmed or fooled, by my splots upon a page
Or the breaking of my heart that surfaces like dolphins
My words tell my story, as true as true could be
But what they do not say, what you cannot see
This is my admission
I’m not worth the paper I am written on
The truest words I ever penned, are some years old now
Listen up, listen good, take heed
“It is with deep regret that I announce – I am no Olympic torch.
I am a firefly.
I burn bright, for a short time, when viewed in a comparatively dim light.
The effect is distracting, a moment of intrigue, but the duration too short to fulfil.
My brightness is relative to the ambient dusk.
Not enough to be noticed in the sunlight.
Not a brilliant light.
An illusion.
Soon gone, as I will be.”
A short while ago, I added a few words more…
“Firefly…me?
It is with even deeper regret that I announce – I wasn’t even that.
I didn’t have wings, never got off the ground.
I burned, but I burned dim…not bright.
And now, goodnight.
For I…I am not worth a thing.
Not worth a song.
Not worth the paper I am written on.”
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How extraordinary to find your article today. Thank you for writing it so articulately. Twitter, I’ve come to the conclusion is spiteful and nasty and people feel comfortable saying horrible things to each other/about each other. It’s been a difficult day, I’ve been tearful and full of self-doubt. If I was writing my part today, the stage directions would instruct me to be “wretchèd” (sic). I’m 53 and I wonder if this is all about the change. Woman to another woman. A lesser woman. Visible to invisible. Able to not so able. Beautiful to not so beautiful. Firm to not so firm. Mother to mother-not-so-needed (and who cares anyway?). I too have been driven by my love for theatre. I occasionally like to think I’ve made a difference. I’ve rarely been paid for anything I’ve loved doing and have done other things to earn some money. I don’t feel I’ve ever been paid what I’m worth and I know that no one takes any application I make for any job seriously now. I’m just too old (I don’t think so, the world does). I want a job to make me feel like I have a value. Anyway, I could witter on and on but just wanted to say thank you for sharing.
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Hi Mark, I’m away from home and on mobile only so a bit hard to work out sharing. And yes, I think very many of us are waiting for that …
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And thank you for sharing too Katie. So much of it is about keeping on, anyway, I think. So much of life is getting through the day and the night until a good hour. I hope you have an easier day tomorrow.
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I’d only vaguely heard of imposter syndrome, but thank you so much for this piece. It’s hugely reassuring and a relief to hear you voice something I’ve felt all my life, for so many of the same reasons – mostly a working-class background and intensely insecure parents, plus growing up as a lesbian before things were so (relatively) “normalised”. Thank you! And I love your writing.
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thank you back, Lesley. I have no idea if it’s a ‘thing’ or merely something I feel, but I do feel it.
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