Editor’s Page: Imposter Syndrome

This is my 29th and final Editor’s Letter, because this is the final issue of Outpatient Surgery Magazine.

Am I sad this chapter is coming to an end? Of course. But there is some relief mixed in with that sadness. Has leading this incredibly talented team and working with the most inspiring yet down-to-earth editorial board been one of the most rewarding opportunities in my career? Absolutely. Am I proud of the work we’ve done? No doubt.

Did I ever feel comfortable in my role as the “face of the magazine” (not my term!)? Hell No! Not even for one single day.

Like many creative professionals, I struggle with Imposter Syndrome. Even in the best of times — when I know the subject as intimately as possible because I’ve lived it — there’s an internal battle raging about how to reconcile the desperate need to create and share stories with as many people as possible with the nagging voice in the back of my mind screaming, Nobody cares about what you have to say!

Put another way: You’re not good enough. You don’t belong here.

An unexpected transition to the editor-in-chief position awakened my dormant Imposter Syndrome — a condition that finally seemed to be in remission — with a vengeance. I’m not a surgeon or anesthesiology provider. I’m not a nurse, surgical technologist or SPD tech. In fact, I’ve never done anything that even resembles the work of a healthcare provider. On the surface, there’s no reason for me to be driving this train. I’ve always been conscious of that.

I can’t even articulate the dread I felt when I sat down to write my first Editor’s Letter or how often the nagging, insecure little voice in the back of my head told me I was a fraud who was in over his head. Eventually, I learned to treat my Imposter Syndrome the way that my mother-in-law treats the urgent beeping noises coming from her blood sugar meter — by ignoring it. If you pretend something’s not real long enough, be it diabetes or Impostor Syndrome, you actually start to believe it. With time, I settled in and was present enough to appreciate how lucky I was to lead a publication with such a longstanding, engaged and generous audience. After receiving more than a few kind emails from readers, I’ve even learned to enjoy putting together this page.

What I enjoyed most about this job, however, were the many raw conversations I’ve had with facility leaders — the administrators, the directors, the administrators/directors/infection preventionist/educators/a bunch of other jobs that are somehow performed by a single person — who were thrown into their current role and forced to learn on the fly.

I can’t relate to their specific challenges, but I can sure as hell relate to they feelings of inadequacy and overwhelm they described to me. If anyone reading this is struggling with an acute, potentially career-threatening case of Imposter Syndrome and fretting over whether you are actually the right person for the job, try to put your head down and ignore those negative thoughts. There are plenty of folks who know you are exactly where you belong, and once you get comfortable, you’ll be right there with them.

Before I sign off for the last time, I want to say “Thank You.” Thank you to my team. Thank you to our Editorial Board, a group that never seemed to balk at our “urgent” last-minute requests. And finally Thank You to all of our readers — especially the ones who have been there since the beginning and have frequently contributed to this magazine over the past 25 years. I’ll stop here because, as my nine-year-old daughter always says, “Dad, you’re starting to ramble again.” OSM