Imposter Syndrome Sucks
It feels like a weighted blanket, rooted in some unnamable space between body and mind, applying a firm pressure as it whispers that you don’t belong. Those whispers grows louder—immune to logic and rationalization—the interloper insisting evermore loudly that you’re a fraud. That you’re in the wrong place. That you should feel bad. That you are, in fact, the interloper in your own life.