Impostor syndrome
Sep. 29th, 2018 10:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
halojedhaLife moves on faster than I can write about it.
It's Saturday, and I've spent today working on an article for an academic journal and tearing my hair out. The deadline is tomorrow. I'm going to finish in time, but I won't have had any rest this weekend.
I do a bunch of relatively high-powered writing and teaching, and none of it normally causes me grief. There's something about the experience of engaging with academia which makes all the old head squirrels wake up. Turns out they were hibernating right where I'd left them.
This is going to be my first peer-reviewed publication, although I've written numerous blogposts, newspaper and magazine articles, etc etc in the course of my campaigning work. I'm not affiliated with any academic institution. I got an MPhil 12 years ago, but these days I describe myself as an "independent scholar" for the purpose of evidence submissions and consultation responses. Still, it's notable how quickly the impostor syndrome comes flooding back when I start writing something for peer review.
It's hard. I mean, writing is hard: I'm working on a non-fiction book, and that's hard too. But there's something about the idea of peer review that tickles all my perfectionist tendencies. The article has a 3000 word limit, and the topic is one I've been studying for two and a half years, so I easily know enough to fill a book. (That's not the book I'm writing, though: I'm so bored of this topic, I'm surprised I've consented to write an article on it.) The challenge is cutting it down to fit the word limit. But every time I try to summarise, a voice in my head imagines all the counter arguments, and I find myself trying to prove my points rather than simply state them. 3000 words isn't enough for much rigour, unless you have a really narrow focus. I'm writing a broad overview, not a deep dive. Still, given my position as a non-academic (at least in the traditional sense), I feel like I have something to prove. I'm present to all the complexity and nuance of the subject matter, and there simply isn't time to do it justice.
So it's hard: and that triggers the tiny, dormant voice; This shouldn't be so hard. If you were smart enough, it wouldn't be. It's bullshit. I've been an activist and artist for years, and I'm plenty smart to teach myself everything I need to know to do the things I want to do. I've learned new skills, new disciplines; I'm constantly pushing myself and striving for deeper understanding, more persuasive communication tools, more rational analytical frameworks, a better grasp of the underlying truth. I've never, in the course of following the most interesting thread in my work, found something I wasn't smart enough to learn. So I have no idea why writing something for academic publication suddenly makes me question my intelligence. It's toxic: the perfectionism, the competitiveness, the self-doubt. This is why I left academia after completing my MPhil. I'm only doing this now so I can reach more people - and because a peer-reviewed publication will be a convincing line on my political CV. I'm looking forward to being done with it. And I'm looking forward - not this weekend, not last weekend, but maybe next weekend - to having a proper day of rest.
It's Saturday, and I've spent today working on an article for an academic journal and tearing my hair out. The deadline is tomorrow. I'm going to finish in time, but I won't have had any rest this weekend.
I do a bunch of relatively high-powered writing and teaching, and none of it normally causes me grief. There's something about the experience of engaging with academia which makes all the old head squirrels wake up. Turns out they were hibernating right where I'd left them.
This is going to be my first peer-reviewed publication, although I've written numerous blogposts, newspaper and magazine articles, etc etc in the course of my campaigning work. I'm not affiliated with any academic institution. I got an MPhil 12 years ago, but these days I describe myself as an "independent scholar" for the purpose of evidence submissions and consultation responses. Still, it's notable how quickly the impostor syndrome comes flooding back when I start writing something for peer review.
It's hard. I mean, writing is hard: I'm working on a non-fiction book, and that's hard too. But there's something about the idea of peer review that tickles all my perfectionist tendencies. The article has a 3000 word limit, and the topic is one I've been studying for two and a half years, so I easily know enough to fill a book. (That's not the book I'm writing, though: I'm so bored of this topic, I'm surprised I've consented to write an article on it.) The challenge is cutting it down to fit the word limit. But every time I try to summarise, a voice in my head imagines all the counter arguments, and I find myself trying to prove my points rather than simply state them. 3000 words isn't enough for much rigour, unless you have a really narrow focus. I'm writing a broad overview, not a deep dive. Still, given my position as a non-academic (at least in the traditional sense), I feel like I have something to prove. I'm present to all the complexity and nuance of the subject matter, and there simply isn't time to do it justice.
So it's hard: and that triggers the tiny, dormant voice; This shouldn't be so hard. If you were smart enough, it wouldn't be. It's bullshit. I've been an activist and artist for years, and I'm plenty smart to teach myself everything I need to know to do the things I want to do. I've learned new skills, new disciplines; I'm constantly pushing myself and striving for deeper understanding, more persuasive communication tools, more rational analytical frameworks, a better grasp of the underlying truth. I've never, in the course of following the most interesting thread in my work, found something I wasn't smart enough to learn. So I have no idea why writing something for academic publication suddenly makes me question my intelligence. It's toxic: the perfectionism, the competitiveness, the self-doubt. This is why I left academia after completing my MPhil. I'm only doing this now so I can reach more people - and because a peer-reviewed publication will be a convincing line on my political CV. I'm looking forward to being done with it. And I'm looking forward - not this weekend, not last weekend, but maybe next weekend - to having a proper day of rest.