The Impostress
All of us have an Inner Critic – a voice inside us that gives us not-so-kind feedback. I like to call my Inner Critic “The Impostress” because she triggers bouts of Imposter Syndrome (and sometimes hurts my feelings). Imposter Syndrome and the Inner Critic tell us all untruthful things about our talents and abilities. They suggest to us that the expectations or impressions of others are more critical than they truly are, and they create a gap between our experiences and our distortion of reality.
All of us have an Inner Critic – an Impostress – who frames our experiences in ways that are not accurate, and we respond to those inaccuracies with our behaviors and emotions. Recently, The Impostress and I had a squabble about a fib she’s been telling me for years – we went up a mountain together and came down Hikers.
I married into a family of accomplished hikers. They grew up vacationing near the beautiful Rocky Mountain National Park, and all of them have memories of climbing several of the mountains nearby. As a girl raised near sea level, outdoor mountain sports were not a part of my childhood. When my partner and I were dating, he took me to this family oasis, and I was resistant to hiking. I wasn’t ever going to become a hiker, I insisted, because I just didn’t have the skills.
To be honest, I did not have the skills. Hiking at altitude takes practice and some athletic endurance, and I had neither. In my mind, The Impostress told me I was not a Real Hiker. When I saw “real hikers,” they all looked effortless as they ascended the trails. They weren’t breathing heavily, as I always was. They didn’t need frequent breaks the way I did. They looked great in those cool hiker pants with all the pockets and zippers. They could wield the trail poles with an ease I had never mastered. For years, I was frequently invited to join in on a family hike, and demurred because I wasn’t a Real Hiker and I knew it.
Instead, I enjoyed strolls in the park to see lakes and pretty meadows. The family grew and a new generation of kids started hiking, and I came to understand that my pretty walks were actually Training Hikes for the younger set, and that they would eventually become Real Hikers. I also knew I’d be left behind if I didn’t go on hikes with them, so I started over the years to brave some of the bigger, longer treks. The Impostress came too. She was sure to point out how hard it was for me as we walked along. She reminded me about the altitude, the breathing hard and the pants with the zippers. (She is super into those pants.) The views on these treks were beautiful and I enjoyed time with the family, and I kept pace with everyone. Still, The Impostress whispered that I wasn’t a Real Hiker.
On our most recent visit to RMNP, my husband and I chose a short hike that I’d never done – but that all the kids & grandkids had done, years ago. I read about the route in the trail guide, and the Impostress started to whisper when I saw a phrase that warned the last bit “wasn’t for everyone.” My husband assured me that if I wanted to stop and come back down at any time, we could, no problem. However, I knew all the children had done it – how could it be so hard?
Hmmm, I thought, something about all this does not add up.
Off we set on the trail – it was gorgeous. Pretty pathways, lovely meadow, and even a charming creek. Then it turned steep quickly. The trees became important to use for balance and I climbed as the dirt path became loose small rocks and then loose bigger rocks and then, steep rocks – I was crawling nearly straight up and it was scary. To get to the top, I’d be slowly crawling up steep, unstable rocks. The trail guide was right, this bit wasn’t for everyone. The Impostress wondered about turning around, and I realized that she wasn’t whispering: she was scared.
The Impostress was scared of failing, quitting, falling down or looking foolish.
I realized something else – I know how to comfort and encourage someone who is scared, even if that someone is myself.
I reminded myself that lots of people climbed this mountain, including all the kids. One step at a time, I said. The Impostress in my head mentioned the hard breathing and the hiking pants, and I focused on how each step got a little closer.
As I carefully chose my footing, I wondered aloud about the difficulty of the hike we’d chosen and asked my partner if this was the “hardest hike I’d ever done.” I told him it was harder for me than the half-marathon I’d done a few years back. (I also reminded The Impostress we’d done a half-marathon; maybe she’d misjudged our fitness level.)
This steep rock bit was really tough for me, I said, and he agreed that it was really hard for everyone he’d done it with, too. WAIT. This is hard for you Real Hikers, too? Yes, I discovered. It was hard for everyone. The Impostress was skeptical: what about the hiker pants?!
Finally, we got to the rock scramble at the top, and to the vista. I was relieved and incredibly proud of myself. The picnic at the top never tasted so sweet! I also realized that the previous hikes I had done were all hard for me and that I had experienced moments of self-doubt for those as well.
I had one of those great breakthrough moments that we all get sometimes, where clarity feels like a gift.
I realized that physical exertion, pace of my walking and fancy pants were all things I’d been using to mask that I was scared of not being good enough among a family of Real Hikers and had totally missed that I, in fact, was a Real Hiker.
As we arrived, we found another couple who exclaimed, “That was the hardest hike EVER!” I enthusiastically agreed. As we sat on the rocks and watched the chipmunks coming closer hoping for a crumb, another group came up, and saw us, and said the same thing. The others commented on the steep rock slope and how it was tough. The Impostress started feeling awfully proud.
On the way back down – the rock slope coming back down was no joke – we bumped into groups on their way up who commented and were impressed we’d gotten it done and trepidatious about their own journey. The last group was a collection of older gals and when they heard where we had been, one pulled a disgusted face, “UGH, that one is a real bugger!” I laughed and couldn’t help but notice: they were wearing the hiker pants and carrying the trail poles. Huh. Maybe it’s time for me to go shopping. I need some Hiker pants.
