Reflections, Part 2
Facing the imposter within
Reflections began as a warm-up, a way to stretch my long-unused writing muscles. Over time, it evolved into an anthology of personal struggle, unveiling the inner turmoil of coping with self-doubt, echoes of childhood trauma, and low self-esteem. The protagonist remains unnamed intentionally, as they represent anyone and everyone who has faced similar challenges at some point in their lives. The different parts of Reflections can be read in a running narrative or as separate stories, glimpses into the protagonist’s life.
I hadn't planned to dive into Reflections this week. I had a personal essay ready to share, but something nudged me in a different direction. It might have been my own wrestle with imposter syndrome, or perhaps a sudden burst of inspiration. Many people spend their lives perfecting their craft, yet still grapple with the feeling of being a fraud among their peers. Reflections aims to uncover these unspoken struggles, shedding light on the fleeting, often silent moments of inner conflict that we all experience but rarely voice.
She stepped into the early morning, a gray heathered backpack slung over one shoulder, a black lunch bag nestled in her left hand, and a key fob and thermos of black hazelnut coffee cradled in her right. The first light of dawn filtered through the narrow spaces between the row houses, casting a faint, golden hue across the windshield of her little blue hatchback. The air was thick with humidity, already oppressive and clinging to her skin like a damp veil. It had been a merciless summer—days drenched in rain, offering no solace, only a stifling mugginess that made her curls stubbornly frizz and coil in defiance.
Her mousy brown curls, unwilling to be tamed, bounced with each step as she moved toward the passenger side door. Just as she approached, a figure appeared in the window—a woman, her face etched with tension, eyes narrowing into a sharp scrutiny. The woman’s frown deepened, her brows knitting together in a silent judgment before she quickly averted her gaze. Biting her lip, she reached the door and, in a hurried motion, tossed her backpack and lunch bag onto the seat, eager to escape the woman’s unsettling stare.
She shut the door with deliberate care, avoiding the harsh clatter that might betray her nerves. As she walked around the back of the car, her steps faltered slightly. “It’s fine. I look fine. I’m ready for this. This is the job I’ve always wanted,” she muttered under her breath.
“Hardly.” The woman’s voice cut through, sharp and intrusive. Distracted, she stubbed her toe, stumbling briefly, but she pushed forward, determined not to be derailed.
Rounding the car, she reached out to grasp the driver’s side door handle. A quick glance at the window brought the woman’s critical gaze back into focus. “This job is way above your head, and you know it,” the woman sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. This time, she refused to engage, her resolve hardening as she ignored the taunt. With a swift motion, she opened the door, slid behind the wheel, and pulled it shut with a resolute click, shutting out the woman’s words along with the outside world.
She pulled the seatbelt across her body, fastening it with a definitive click. Placing both hands on the wheel, she gripped it gently, closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath. She let it out slowly, feeling the tension ease slightly from her shoulders before she opened her eyes and pressed the “Start” button on the dash. The engine hummed to life. Without thinking, she glanced up at the rearview mirror to back out of the driveway. Her eyes locked onto the woman’s image once more, and a frown tugged at her lips. “Stop pretending. You’re a total fool, thinking you’ll last five minutes there. They’re going to see right through you, and you’ll be out on your ass before you can blink,” the woman spat, her words laced with venom.
“Enough!” she shouted, slamming her palms against the steering wheel. Her fingers clenched tightly around it, the force of her grip causing her grandmother’s heirloom ring to dig painfully into her skin. The sharp sting grounded her, and she inhaled sharply. “I don’t care! I don’t! I’m doing this—ready or not. Fake it until you make it.” She stared at her trembling hands, the ring's intricate details pressing into her flesh, before sighing deeply. Resolute, she turned her body, eyes scanning the back window as she began to reverse down the front drive and onto the street, leaving the woman’s sneering voice behind her.
Where she usually had the latest hits playing from the radio, this drive was enveloped in silence. As her little hatchback navigated the narrow streets, she breathed slowly, each inhale and exhale an attempt to soothe her fraying nerves. The entire drive, she deliberately avoided even a glance at the rearview mirror. She focused intently on what was directly in front of her—the road, the line of cars, the elderly woman waiting at the bus stop with a little pushcart.
The elderly woman wore a blue silk scarf with white flowers tied neatly over her head. The sight tugged at her heart, reminding her of her own gram, who always wrapped a scarf around her hair before stepping outside. A wave of longing washed over her. It had been three years since her gram had passed, but the ache of loss hadn’t faded. Sundays had once been sacred—time spent with her gram over tea, sharing stories about college, her latest projects, and life’s little happenings.
A sudden blare of a car horn behind her jolted her back to the present. The light had turned green, and she hadn’t even noticed. She quickly pulled forward, her pulse quickening as she realized how close she was now. Just a few blocks more. Her heart fluttered, then began to race, the calm she’d been trying to maintain slipping away. She focused on her breathing, but the anxious rhythm of her pulse drowned out any sense of control.
Finally, she reached her turn-in and flicked on her blinker, waiting for the traffic to clear. The steady tick, tick, tick of the blinker filled the car, each sound amplifying the tense silence as she anticipated her moment to move forward. She pulled into a paved lot, noting the number of cars already there, yet plenty of spaces remained for her to choose from. The lot lay behind a mid-rise, turn-of-the-century brick building, its weathered exterior housing a variety of businesses. One of them was her destination: her new job. This wasn’t just any job—not her first one out of college—but the one she had worked so hard to achieve. The long hours, the late nights spent studying for additional certifications, had all led to this moment.
Her hard work spoke for itself; her new boss had even told her as much. She had been thrilled to apply for the position when it was posted, brimming with excitement. Confidence had radiated from her during the interview, every answer flowing effortlessly as if it had been scripted. But now, sitting in her car, she hesitated. Doubt crept in, gnawing at the edges of her resolve. What if this was all a mistake? What if she ended up humiliating herself?
“No,” she said aloud, shaking her head as if to physically dispel the thought. She glanced into the mirror, and the woman was there, watching her intently. But this time, a smile slowly spread across her face, and the woman mirrored it, offering a reassuring nod. “No. We’ve got this.”
She beamed back at the woman, her confidence slowly returning. With a decisive nod, she grabbed the bags beside her and stepped out of the car. In one swift motion, she swung her backpack over her shoulder and reached back into the car for her thermos. As she shut the car door, the woman appeared in the window again, her gaze steady. She paused, locking eyes with the woman, before smiling once more. “I’ve got this,” she repeated silently to herself.
With newfound determination, she turned and walked toward the building. Her curls bounced with each step, carrying the rhythm of quiet, determined confidence.
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An interesting piece about self-doubt and imposter syndrome - I was engaged by it!