When I was in grad school, I was a fake, a phony, a fraud.
Or at least I felt that way — very much.
I felt like the program made some exception to accept me, that I really didn’t deserve to be there, that I wore my stupidity on my sleeve and that soon the professors and powers-that-be would find out and kick me out.
That never happened. (I actually left after receiving my Master’s to pursue writing.) But it didn’t quell my fears.
Even when I received high grades and positive feedback and praise, I still felt a gnawing discomfort that I just didn’t belong in such a smart place.
I also wasn’t the only one. My cohort and I talked regularly about feeling like our department had a made a mistake in admitting us. We worried about keeping up, regularly questioned our intelligence and abilities and felt insecure all-around.
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