Imposter Syndrome



Imposter Syndrome

 

I felt revered...like a rising star that everyone wanted to emulate. The eyes of all these madams, these women so carefully dressed-a gold chain matching with a hanging belt, jeans embroidered with a lace edge–were fixed on me. If I grabbed my foot to stretch out my thigh, the woman with the Egyptian elongated eyes grabbed hers. When I bent over to touch the floor, another cooed: "Ooo, how flexible you are." The others bobbed their heads in unison as if in the chorus of a musical.

I wanted to stay staring at my feet, but I was also flattered. As my high school stage director Mr. Heitkamp once expressed in exasperated tones: "You want to be on stage, yet you don't want to be seen! I don't get it." 

I don't get it either, Mr. Heitkamp, even after living for almost 50 years and being part of a good amount of productions.

Back to the scene at hand, the embarrassment increased when the main teacher told me to demonstrate the dance in front of the class so he could watch the students as they followed me. You see, I wasn't a student: I was the teacher's assistant. I had learned the Shim Sham years ago, so it wasn't new. Not only that, but in swing get-togethers it's a staple. Yet, I still had doubts. In fact, at some point I didn't know where I was in the choreography. I stopped, feeling inadequate.

But why? The teacher had lost his place or rhythm many times and wasn't fazed in the least. Even if he only "kinda" remembered the step or wasn't sure of where it went on the beat, he continued on, confident he had something to teach. And he did.

I have been dancing for years, so surely I have acquired enough knowledge to teach something, but then I think of all the fantastic dancers I have met and literally shrink. Mr. Heitkamp was unto something when he described my personal conundrum: I am longing, craving for people to recognize my talents and praise me for them. But at the same time I fear they will figure out I am fallible. I am always striving to be better, knowing I am not perfect and will never be perfect. All I can do is perform the best I can at that moment, but what if it's not good enough?

I suppose I should focus on what I do right...that the women last night (and many dance partners) find my lightness and elegance fascinating. (I am not being cocky here: I am repeating what people have said.)

Being feminine and expressing beauty is what I strive for in everything. Shouldn't I be satisfied that people notice that, and more importantly, they enjoy watching me because I enjoy myself? What's more, isn't the fact that I exude joy an amazing power to hold?



Text: Kristen Mastromarchi

Photo: <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/leloops-14891393/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=4760604">leloops</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=4760604">Pixabay</a>

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