I’ve heard that it’s common for smart, competent women to feel like imposters. Juggling those balls in the air, waiting for something messy to splat to the floor, it’s easy to feel like a fraud. Is that because expectations for women are so impossibly high; so densely, intricately layered? I lived for years with a terror of making mistakes, any at all. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t make mistakes during that time, but when I did I covered them up, I hid, I berated myself, I plunged into self-loathing. Now I know that “fake it ‘til you make it” is not about assuming a mask. It’s about always overreaching a little, taking on more than is comfortable, knowing you can handle the consequences. It takes life experience to have that kind of equanimity, and a great deal of self-compassion. And a hard-wrestled, hard-earned insistence that you belong wherever you are.

From my current daily writing practice with three women across the continent. Word prompt: “fraud”. Today is day 60 of the new count. This is from last week.

I look around at this blog, and think maybe it needs some sprucing up. More images would be nice, a fresh coat of paint, snazzy new curtains. But I ignore that thought, and focus on what I want to be doing, a little bit of writing each day. Because I want to; because I can.