Scripts! We all have them. They represent our default positions in life … where we go when uncertain, threatened, insecure, or just seeking a safe place. I assume they are a product of primal experiences … those early reinforcements from our primary caregivers that just might be cemented in place by a bit of genetic wiring. Nature and nurture working together.

I probably have several identifiable scripts, but I doubt any have been more persistent or consequential than my ‘imposter syndrome.‘ In case you have been spared such, this affliction attacks any self-worth you might possess. You go through life feeling unworthy, like a fake who has negotiated life through a series of clever stratagems. You see yourself as little more than a con man surviving on little more than smoke and mirrors.

Feeling inferior infused and defined most aspects if my life. I never felt as athletic as the other kids. I thought of myself as ugly and unattractive to the females who had the misfortune to wander through my sorry life. I realized I wasn’t totally dense but was always amazed when I managed somehow not to fail in school. In fact, starting in junior high school I was placed in various advanced classes for more gifted students. However did that happen? Naturally, I assumed all that were a series of mistakes. My performance did little to correct my self-image, at least until college.

This feeling of being a fraud persisted even in the face of contradictory evidence. I somehow managed to get through college, do a tour in the Peace Corps (India), eventually earn a doctorate, and wind up teaching and doing research at a top research university. I even found myself running a natinally respected research entity at the University of Wisconsin. Still, I never could convince myself I earned any of this. In fact, all remained a mystery in my eyes.

As my career evolved, I found myself involved in national policy issues and consulting with a variety of government bodies at the local and national levels. I would be in a meeting with top federal officials and the best policy wonks. I would suddenly realize they were listening to me. To me! At the same time, I fully expected security to burst in the room to escort me to the street, the fraud in the room finally being exposed. Yet, the next moment I realized I just might be one of the cleverest guys in the room. It is very hard going through life bouncing from one extreme to the other, not knowing which captured reality.

Where did this imposter script come from? Well, I have a guess, but who knows if it is correct. My mother always criticized me, finding fault in everything I did. It wasn’t until I was long into adulthood that it became apparent that I, her only child, was a mere prop in her life. She never realized her dreams so used me to garner praise from her significant others. Apparently, I could never live up to any advanced billing in her eyes even as she praised me to the heavens to others. I, however, never heard these glowing words. When others praised me in life, and I can NOW see that often was true, I found ways to discount all that. Denial and self-deprecation were my go-to places.

There is a second script worth mentioning, one I view with mixed emotions. As you may know, my religious indoctrination was in the Catholic faith. As a kid, I was serious about it, eventually entering a religious seminary after high school. My tepid efforts to become Pope ended soon enough when I realized that a belief in God was a basic job prerequisite. I embraced the core lessons of Christ (and most other traditions) but could not accept the notion of a personal deity nor the trappings surrounding the claims any spiritual institution made. None of them had an exclusive claim on truth.

What I found is that you can push aside any formal allegiance to a specific religious tradition easily enough. I had no trouble separating myself from the Catholic Church as an institution within weeks of matriculating at Clark University, that den of atheism and Communism according to Catholic opinion in my hometown. In truth, no one at my school cared one wit about my religious beliefs, one way or another. It turned out indifference was the most effective antidote to any religious allegiance.

In fact, it is quite easy to cut the formal ties to a religious institution. However, much of the emotional detritus stays with you. For many of us ex-Catholics, you never can quite kick the guilt … the ever present sense of sin or falling short. I’ve chatted with numerous ex Catholics over the years. We agree that Jews and us carry around the most baggage from our early years. Perhaps it was all that stuff about original sin, about confession and the ever present fear of dying while in a state of sin that burdens us.

What I can recall from my early indoctrination is the milk bottle metaphor. The milk bottle represented our soul. If you were in a state of mortal sin, the bottle was black, empty, lacking any Grace. You were headed for eternal damnation.

Now, if you had committed several venal sins (those of less consequence), your milk bottle was spotty. It was if you had contracted a virus that resulted in your bodily tissue being partly infected. What you wanted, of course, is for your milk bottle to be totally white. Then you were in God’s grace, and heaven was assured.

But here’s the problem. And there always is a problem. Sin was everywhere. There was no way to avoid it, especially when we males hit puberty. Our hormones immediately roared into high gear, and Hell seemed unavoidable. There was no way to escape it. Our only hope was yo be struck by lightening within 10 seconds of leaving the Confessional and receiving the Priest’s absolution. Anything longer than 10 seconds and you likely would have an impure thought, not that you could ever act upon these thoughts. All the Catholic girls I knew back then had dedicated themselves to Saint Virginius of the Holy Bodily Temple. They would rather be dipped in boiling oil than do the dirty deed. That didn’t matter. We guys were having impure thoughts every 7.7 seconds. We were doomed.

You can kind of see how we Catholic kids (boys that is) were awash in guilt. Our milk bottles would always be spotty, if lucky, empty if unlucky. But maybe there was an out. If you were paying attention, you might latch on to Christ’s message. Be kind and loving above all else. In particular, help others who were less fortunate and were more vulnerable. If you really wanted to score points with the Big Guy, be especially kind to those not of your tribe. Loving those not considered your neighbor, like foreigners, could get you many points. Basically, the out was to do good deeds in life. You were sure to sin all the time, your hormones guaranteed that. At best, you might neutralize the damage.

Let me just say this. Going through life believing you are a fake and feeling guilty (e.g., sinful) imposes a huge burden. I’m rather shocked I made it. I do realize that the first thing I would do most mornings is apologize. For what, I was never quite certain, but being a fake and unworthy probably warranted some kind of morning petition for mercy and hopefully forgiveness. He’ll, I was petitioning an entity I didn’t believe existed. How pathetic is that?

I think I was lucky to be surrounded by people who had a much higher opinion of me than I had of myself. After many years of surprisingly positive feedback (which I had increasing difficulty dismissing), I managed to climb high enough out of my pit if self-disgust to feel okay about myself. That sense of being a failure and a fraud surely remains, but doesn’t dominate my self-image any longer. As I turn 80, I even entertain a positive feeling or two about myself.

Good enough, I think! I’ll take it.