Something incredibly beautiful about a relationship with God is the peace found in knowing that I am not enough, which I'm aware is a bold statement. But hear me: knowing that there is nothing I can do to make God love me less and that His Son paid my debt in completion is a great comfort. It takes any performative pressure off. God desires fellowship with us, not the best performance (which is not an excuse for sin, obviously). I do not have to earn a place with my Father.
Somehow, I tend to have my head wrapped tightly around that concept, but my heart isn't always in the same position.
Imposter syndrome has all but lived in my head like a second conscience for as long as I can remember, existing as both pride and self-deprecation. And just recently, after a long time without it, the voice of imposter syndrome returned. Let me explain.
The Self-Depreciation and Pride of Imposter Syndrome
"I want you to know that I really am trying," was something I told my college coaches tirelessly, maybe every single practice. Coming from a less glamorous volleyball past, my game IQ was far behind my teammates, and catching up to the college level was a huge obstacle. But I needed my coaches to understand that I was not being lazy or not listening. I wasn't ignoring them. I wasn't refusing to learn.
I was trying, and I was aware that I was not yet up to speed. The trouble came when I began to believe that my lack of ability meant I didn't belong there—not just practically, but morally. As though being slower to understand the game was something I should feel guilty for.
Sometimes I felt like I should apologize when I had a hard time understanding something, or when a more gifted player was paired with me. I needed them to understand that I knew where I stood on this made-up totem pole--that I was frustrated by my inabilities, too.
Now, I was not saying these things aloud, but at my core, even if I didn't fully realize it, I believed the following: I don't belong here. I am not good enough to be here. And I realized it was a problem when no one was ever mad at me. No one saw me as lesser than. No one even seemed to notice the issue. The "issue," then, was an internal dissatisfaction with myself.
The same feelings of inadequacy were not limited to volleyball, but arose when I felt confused in chemistry labs, ungifted in worship teams, and less beautiful than others around me. The same feeling arose just this past week when I stuck my foot back into coaching. Am I good enough for this?
Being hard on myself can feel as natural as breathing. It can quickly seep into every crack of my life.
Constant feelings of inadequacy, being entirely too hard on yourself, and doubting the place God set you in are all symptoms of the same illness. Pride.
When God has placed us somewhere, given us something to do, and asked us to trust Him in it, who are we to insist, "No, God. I'm not good enough for this."?
Why is my inadequacy the thing I can't stop thinking about?
Why am I so consumed with how capable—or incapable—I am?
Why am I, then, so consumed with me?
Do you see where I'm going?
There is a world of difference between recognizing that I am inadequate without God and believing that I am a lost cause because I am inadequate. One leads to holy dependence while the other pushes self-obsession and deep comparison. Recognizing that I need God's strength to do something well is humility. Refusing to believe that God could work through me because I don't feel capable enough is something else entirely.
What Do We Do?
This particular pride issue stems from thinking about oneself entirely too much. When we overanalyze our abilities, we will either be fixated on how good we are (pride) or how good we aren't (also pride, in a less common sense).
So what do we do? I'll tell you what I'm doing.
When I just stepped back into coaching, the same thoughts of inadequacy began to creep in. I thought, "I am terrified of messing up a sport these girls are just learning to love. I'm scared of getting a question I can't answer. I'm scared of being tired."
Then I remembered that this opportunity is an answer to my prayers. So, I'm no longer asking, "Am I good enough?" The answer is no. That is a fruitless question at this point and it only focuses on me. Instead, I'm asking, "God, do you want me here?"
If that answer is a yes, then my job is not to prove my qualification to HIm; it is to be faithful to where He has put me.
NOW, that does not mean I can sit back and stop learning. I'm not going to go in and pretend I know exactly what I'm doing all the time. I cannot walk into something unprepared and call it faith. It means I can acknowledge my weakness without making it an identity.
My job now, that I feel I've been called to work with this group, is not to flex some knowledge I don't have. It is the following:
1. To make these girls feel valued, loved, and encouraged.
2. To be a safe, kind, and gentle person for them to communicate with.
3. To do my absolute best in knowing what I'm teaching.
4. To be humble.
5. To honor God in my efforts.
6. To help them love a sport that changed my life in some awesome ways.
To wrap up a lengthier post (sorry), I won't end with some deep conclusion. This post was really just a think piece for my own sake. Instead, I'll leave off with this:
Consider the many great men and women of the Bible who were incapable or bogged down by their own humanity. Moses, who was a bad speaker; Gideon, who was from a poor family; David, who was the youngest, overlooked son. Now, obviously the things these men were tasked with were a lot more significant than coaching volleyball, but the concept is the same.
When eloquent speakers arrived to boast their status above Paul, and his "thorn in the flesh" continued to bother him, Paul writes of God's heart. “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).
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