dearest imposter,

i just need you to lower your voice.

sometimes, i write letters to acknowledge the different parts of me. to tell them how overwhelming and annoying they are. but also to remind them that i see them, acknowledge them, and love them.

if you haven’t done this before, it might seem a little weird. but, if you allow, it can be freeing. this practice helps process emotions, release the self-limiting beliefs we tend to hold onto, and move forward with less weight. give it a shot and notice how you feel afterward.

i was introduced to this idea over a year ago in a shadow course by Xavier Dagba.

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dear imposter syndrome,

you are overwhelming. i allow you to paralyze me. too afraid to take action on the things i love. you make me question whether i love them at all.

can i write about my experience? i feel like i’m too american but not american enough yet too indian but not nearly indian enough. you have me questioning whether i have a right to feel what i feel.

you’re constantly judging me. you make me hesitate before taking any step towards what i want. you find ways to pick things apart before they exist. before i’ve created them. before i’ve even dared to dream about what i may want to bring into existence.

who do you think you are? you say.

the way you judge me and put me down is brutal because i believe you. i believe every word. i internalize it. i make up stories and believe them to be indisputable fact.

i know you’re scared. listening to you has kept me safe but has also kept me small.

i want to explore my voice and take up space. i want to create. to share. to build.

but ridicule is e v e r y w h e r e, you say, what if they say mean things?

they just might.

i know your knee-jerk reaction will be, i told you so. don’t do that again.

and i’ll probably listen to you. until, inevitably, the pull for creation becomes too big to ignore. then, we’ll run through this cycle all over again.

but i want to change that. i don’t want you to be quiet.

no.

i want you to express yourself.

i promise i will listen to you. i will befriend you. i will give your voice the outlet it needs.

in return, i just need you to lower your voice. i need you to communicate your concerns more gently. like one might speak to a dear friend. with compassion.

dearest imposter, i know you’re scared and making every excuse to protect us from being in a position that might hurt us. but i’m telling you that we will get through things together. that i will hear you out and give you space to voice yourself.

then, we will move forward together.

you drive me crazy, imposter, but i love you anyway.

<3

shailla

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currently

reading: tough broad by caroline paul

listening to: what now? by trevor noah // human-kind or human evil with rutger bregman

thinking about: the turnout at my congressional district’s town hall today. it was inspiring to be around other humans who care, who want to make change, who are gathering, protesting, and energized.

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posts i’ve read and loved these last two weeks

Maybe you are not falling behind by Nadia Meli

Maybe taking longer to arrive means arriving with more intention, more clarity of who you are. Maybe it’s ok to move slower and arrive later than everyone else. Late-R does not mean too late.

i'm sick of hearing about your boyfriend by aslı

I want my girlfriends to stand up for themselves. I want them to stop taking shit from men. I want them to be angry, rude and un-ladylike. I want men to think they’re a bitch. I also want to see them in good relationships, with good men. And I want them to be so happy in their relationships that we never have to talk about boyfriends again.

the more i heal, the more i pivot. by Arielle Simone

being alone is being with myself and there’s a lot of richness that comes with being able to recharge, reflect, and bask in your own energy. that’s where i’m at.

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when we start to let go of external validations, expectations, and opinions — who would we be? where would life take us? what will we do? who are you interrupted?