“Unease with a Face of Certainty: A Personal Rhetorical History of My Imposter Syndrome”

by Sherwin Kawahakui Ranchez Sales | Xchanges 15.1, Spring 2020

Introduction

At a conference, I sit next to fellow panelists. Because our session is small, we create a circle to discuss. I often dread these circles. I sometimes hope someone will ask me a question—so that I have an excuse to speak.

I’ve been conditioned to believe (some way or another) that speaking in these circles grants you validity. I’ve been conditioned to believe that articulating my thoughts in a complex way lets others know I’m supposed to be here. I feel I know what I’m talking about. I just need to be asked something. Or else I wouldn’t say anything at all.

Time passes, and no questions are asked. The conversation continues while I sit quietly, nodding along, but also listening for a moment to say something. I don’t find one.

Even several years into my graduate studies, I still fear my place is questioned. Those who feel this way get an itching feeling that we do not quite belong, finding excuses to validate how we got in; somehow it was a fluke. We compare ourselves. We are never doing enough. When I complete my graduate work, I suspect I will feel similar as a new PhD, feeling that I cannot say “I’m a graduate student” when I am unsure of something or if I make a mistake. I am afraid this feeling will never truly go away.

In my experience, however, what goes unexamined is the positionality of those who feel like an imposter. Throughout my academic journey, examining my cultural background and upbringing as to why I feel this way was an interrogation I did not like to do, but I have read enough to believe that one’s culture can in fact play a role in feelings of inadequacy: Young (2004) and Villanueva (1993) come to mind. Despite my reading of these scholars, I still believed my marginalization had no relation to my successes or failures. No excuses: bootstrap mentality. I can do it if I just try. As an Asian Pacific American, I have been shown this through the model minority myth, through my family, through media. It has taken me far too long, I think, to investigate these notions further. Villanueva (1993) writes that “the bootstraps break before the boots are on, that too many have no boots” (p. xiv), and I admit that I have had the privilege of possessing a decent pair.

I hope to reconsider how my place in academia is located within a larger personal rhetorical history, one that links aspects of my family and their own experiences to my feelings of uncertainty. To do this, I employ the personal as it “contributes to understanding the multiple locations we occupy as researchers, teachers, and citizens” (Young, 2004, p. 16). Additionally, as an emerging academic of color, I find reassurance in these types of scholarship, yet I also believe building networks and having mentors that understand your experience (even just a little bit) is crucial in this business.