Impostors work alone, even if they always seem to be surrounded by people. That’s because they live in fear of being found out. One of the best ways to assure yourself that you’re not a fraud, then, is by seeking real connection with others.

We need some relationships in which we can take off our filter:

Who are the people with whom you can be your truest self?

Whom do you invite to help you and hold you accountable?

Connection can also take the form of amplifying others’ voices. In a vocation like ministry where the title “pastor” still conjures up a very specific, very male mental image for most people, clergywomen need one another:

How might we reach out to support other women?

Who needs our encouragement? How might we give it?

Who needs recognition? About what specifically?

Who might we amplify? How might we do that?

The more we look for mutual support, the more we’ll be able to help each other combat self-doubt.

And the more we lift one another up, the more bonded we will be, with the positive by-product of others better realizing the gifts and experiences have to offer. Everyone wins - us, our colleagues, and those under our leadership. By contrast, impostors are in it only for what they gain for themselves. It rarely matters to them who else benefits - or who might even be sacrificed so that they can continue to look good.

I invite you to make lists or draw concentric circles of your relationships, from your closest ones to your acquaintances. Offer a prayer of gratitude for these people. Consider what it might take to deepen a couple of these connections. Take stock of the abilities of the people on your list/diagram and mull which ones you’d like to encourage further or amplify. Ask for God’s guidance in doing so.

I hope that by now you know deep in your being you are no impostor and that when those thoughts start to tug at the edges of your consciousness, you have some tools to combat them. The church and the world need you, the actual you, and all the wisdom and quirks and sass you bring.

If you liked this post, check out week 1, week 2, week 3, week 4, week 5, and week 6 of this series.

Photo by Carl Nenzen Loven on Unsplash.

Thanks to FX’s tv show The Americans, I have become completely fascinated by spies. How do agents perpetually inhabit such a morally ambiguous space? And how do they stay in their created personas, particularly when they juggle more than one alternate identity?

Spies are, by definition, impostors. They pretend to be someone different, or to like a target, or to operate under an ideology other than their own, so that they can obtain information they likely wouldn’t have access to otherwise. They sometimes - maybe often - have to remain consistent in their inauthenticity over a period of time to squeeze the most out of their marks.

Impostors, then, have to remember the stories they’ve constructed for themselves if they don’t want to be found out. To combat our own sense of being impostors, how might we remember the realities of our work and the truth of our impacts?

What are our purpose statements in ministry?

What is an image that reminds us of our authentic approach to ministry?

How might we build in regular reflections on what we’ve done?

Who are the people who see and value us, and how might we turn up their volume?

We have not imagined the work that we do and the effects we have on others. We do not have to keep concocted backstories in mind in order to speak and act in character. If we stay attuned to the call of God on our lives, we will be the real deal.

What are touchstones you can build in so that you stay on the trajectory onto which the Spirit has nudged you? Maybe the touchstone is a practice. Maybe it is a photo or a doodle on a napkin. Maybe it is a note someone has written to you. Maybe it’s a smooth stone that you keep in your pocket or a piece of jewelry you wear. Whatever it is, keep it handy to remind you as needed that you are showing up and moving about in authentic ways.

If you liked this post, check out week 1, week 2, week 3, week 4, and week 5 of this series.

Photo by Ava Sol on Unsplash.

In last week’s post about impostor syndrome, I focused on how we arrived at our current spheres of influence. This week I invite reflection on what we’re doing with what we’ve been given. Impostors don’t typically have a (positive) effect with much depth or breadth. They can’t, because their energy is too self-focused: how do I continue to impress? Who is about to get close enough to see the real me? How do I use sleight of hand to prevent that? It’s true that we might ask similar questions of ourselves sometimes. But if we retain a heart for service, an outward orientation, we can have a big impact even when self-doubt gnaws at our inner being.

Consider, then:

What gifts do we bring to our settings, including the ways that we show up?

What does our ministry allow our settings to do that they couldn’t otherwise?

Where have we seen God at work through us?

Answering these questions is a spiritual discipline, an act of gratitude and connection.

I encourage you to create some sort of visual of your impact. Maybe it’s a list of all you bring to the settings you inhabit. Maybe it’s a painting or drawing that illustrates the gift of your presence. Maybe it’s a literal box with a bow on top and slips of paper inside that name all that you are and do, placed strategically where you can see it when needed. Pray over your visual, offering gratitude to God for your authentic self and asking for the courage to live it in ways that serve justice and peace.

If you liked this post, check out week 1, week 2, week 3, and week 4 of this series.

Photo by Jess Bailey on Unsplash.

It’s pretty easy for me to sit in front of my computer and assure you that you are not a fraud. I know as a fellow impostor syndrome sufferer, though, that it might be a lot harder for you to receive and internalize that word. For the remaining weeks of this blog series, then, I will offer reflection questions so that you can work through the logic for (for those head-oriented folks like me) and root it more deeply in your feelings about (for those of you who are heart-focused folks) yourself.

Impostors are people who can’t show their work. Even as we cultivate awareness of our privilege and acknowledge that we’ve probably had a few lucky breaks along the way (Or were those moments of good fortune divinely orchestrated? God only knows.), let’s think about how we got where we are.

Who are the people who invested in us along the way?

What was it they saw in us that caused them to invest?

How do we know we were called by God?

What work did we put in ourselves?

I’m willing to bet that if you spend some time with these reflection points, you’ll see that you’re not in your current role by accident or deceit. Instead, you’ll have a broader sense of how God has been at work in and around you all along, beckoning you to join in the good work of building God’s reign.

We honor those who have believed in and helped us as well as the image of God within by rightly seeing ourselves. Close your eyes, then, and allow the faces of your supportive mentors and family members, friends and teachers, leaders you’ve known and role models you’ve never even met, to float up in your heart and mind. Remember their instruction and encouragement. Think back to your experience of call, whether it was a sudden realization or a slow revelation. Physically tuck all of these experiences into your pocket or press them to your heart so that you can carry them with you. They are God’s own acts of care, spoken and lived through others.

If you liked this post, check out week 1, week 2, and week 3 of this series.

Photo by Vlad Bagacian on Unsplash.

Impostor syndrome is all about imprisonment by expectations, whether they are our own or someone else’s, whether they are spoken aloud or unstated. We’re afraid that we’re not going to stack up to what we “should” be. (“Should” is a more toxic word than any four-letter curse.) Then we wish away who we are in an ill-fated attempt to put on a public persona that doesn’t fit, like when I wore a navy pantsuit to an interview for a job in college. I didn’t initially get the job, and part of the reason was that stupid suit with the ginormous shoulder pads. My interviewer, who offered me the position after the first choice candidate turned it down, later let me know that the suit made my 4’10” self look like a little girl playing dress up. It hid my superpower, which was an unassuming look that belied my toughness in conflicted situations.

Do you know who else didn’t live up to expectations? [Insert the standard, but correct, Sunday School answer here.] Yup. Jesus was not what the people anticipated a Messiah to look or act like. He was not mighty in a military sense. He did not use force to overthrow unjust institutions once and for all. He did not sort people easily into those who do and don’t follow the rules, into the clean and unclean. He didn’t bluster. He didn’t usher in God’s full reign shortly.

Sure, the distance between expectation and reality was what got Jesus in trouble. (It can be dangerous for us too, because we’ll at times be pushing against long-held yearnings or deep-seated biases.) It was also what made him a savior and the harbinger of God’s realm, characterized by grace and peace. The Incarnation was intended to be a reflection of God and God’s dream, not the people’s expectations.

Not trying to be something we’re not and instead moving about our work and lives authentically is an act of following Christ, then. It is courage embodied, as it makes others face their assumptions and biases, which many will fight hard to maintain. It encourages others to be faithful to their unique expressions of God’s image within.

If you could look squarely in Jesus’ face, then, what would he say to you? What would he lift up and affirm in you? How would he gently challenge you? Imagine yourself in conversation with this God-in-flesh who knows how hard it is to shake off the shackles of unhelpful, status-quo-protecting expectations. Then turn, in your mind or in reality, toward someone you’d like to encourage to be more fully themselves. What would you say to that person? Allow those words to volley back as wisdom and compassion for yourself.

If you like this post, check out week 1 and week 2 of this series.

Photo by Will Myers on Unsplash.

The tightening of the gut. A higher-pitched laugh. Strain in the lower back. Restless sleep. An inauthentic display of extroversion. Extreme overfunctioning. Increased sweat production.

These are my internal and external impostor syndrome tells. (That last one is particularly lovely.) What are yours?

The symptoms that accompany impostor syndrome seem harmless enough. But are they? The physical symptoms indicate stresses on the body that can wreak havoc if they are persistent enough. The emotional, spiritual, and vocational effects might be even more detrimental, though. Impostor syndrome makes us undervalue our gifts and ministries. (What do I know anyway?) It urges us to lead in ways that are not authentic to us (How can I seem more authoritative?), and as a result we don’t leverage our God-given strengths as faithfully as we could. It causes us to doubt our decisions and avoid calculated risks instead of using them as ongoing discernment. (What if I mess up and people realize I don’t deserve their trust in my leadership?) And the comparison that impostor syndrome is often rooted in can lead to such discouragement (Why is everyone doing so much more or better than me?) that we consider leaving the ministry altogether.

Well, here’s the thing about being wonderfully made. We’re supposed to learn from others but not copy them. Our backgrounds, challenges, epiphanies, relationships, and more have been woven together in such a way that we speak and act in ways that aren’t exactly like anyone else, and God uses that for good.

Right now, you being you is changing the face of pastoral ministry, is altering the perception of what a clergyperson looks like. Ministers don’t have to inhabit outsized pulpits at big steeple churches to be effective, thanks be to God! We don’t have to have 20 years of experience under their belts. We don’t have to be male, or white, or straight. We simply have to listen for the nudging and wait on the equipping of the Holy Spirit to be pastors who work for the full arrival of God’s reign. If we do that, we’ll be surprised and delighted by what can be done with what we’ve been given.

This week, spend some time in a breath prayer. Breathe in God’s care for you. Breathe out your care for others, expressed in your own way. Do this for at least a minute.

If you like this post, check out week 1 of this series.

Photo by Noah Näf on Unsplash.

I come face-to-face with self-doubt on a weekly basis. More often, it’s daily. (Ok, ok, multiple times per day.) Why should churches or other ministers think I can help them? Who am I to think I can speak to [insert complex issue here]? What do people think when they look at my rate sheet?

Impostor syndrome is feeling like a fraud, moments away from being exposed, despite having a verifiable track record. When you are your own employer, it’s easy for impostor syndrome to make itself at home in your psyche. After all, your ability to work in your field depends on constantly putting yourself out there. And in my case as a coach, I am not so much offering a thing to purchase as I am myself: my presence, experience, and gifts. That feels very tender and risky if I think too much about it.

Certainly impostor syndrome is not limited to those who run their own businesses. I felt it in congregational ministry as well. Who am I to speak on God’s behalf? What if I hear wrong? Does anything I say or do matter, or am I yelling into the void? I know from talking with coachees that many pastors wrestle with these questions and many more, despite feeling confident that they have been called to ministry and are continually being equipped by God.*

Humility is a good thing. It helps us stay in our own lanes, and it reminds us that we need God and those around us. But when humility mutates into something corrosive, it is no longer a gift of the Spirit. It becomes an obstacle to right relationship with God and God’s beloved.

That’s why I’ll be spending Lent - the season when we focus most intently on removing all that comes between us and God - on impostor syndrome. How does it manifest, and what kind of spiritual reflection can we engage in to step back from self-doubt into a humility rooted in being made in God’s image?

I invite you to join me.

*Some of these struggles are prompted by internalized structural inequities and the prejudices of others. Even so, we must learn how to maneuver through them as we seek to dismantle them.

Photo by Kyle Head on Unsplash.

At the height of Michael Jordan's NBA career, Gatorade launched the "Be like Mike" campaign. If we replenished our electrolytes with the same sports beverage as Jordan, then we could hope to lead our teams to NBA titles, be named the NBA's MVP, and take home multiple NBA scoring and slam-dunk championships.

It's important to have role models, people who broaden our imaginations about what's possible. At some point there becomes a danger, though, of feeling like a fraud if we compare ourselves to those role models - or even to those who don't seem to be putting in the work yet reap the rewards of their positions - and judge ourselves as coming up short. There aren't enough gallons of Gatorade to make up for gaps in privilege or charisma or opportunity or raw talent.

Even in 2020, many clergywomen are treated as if we are "playing at" pastoring, as if we don't deserve to live into the fullness of God's call on our lives and aren't capable to exercise the fullness of God's equipping for our vocations. While we often feel like we are treading water, toiling for our authority every day, we see others gaining bigger platforms.

Enter impostor syndrome: what am I doing here? Is someone going to realize I don't belong and call me on it? Does my effort even matter, since I might never be the Michael Jordan of ministry? (Spoiler alert: YES.) Impostor syndrome is widespread and insidious. It makes us feel like our gifts and ministries aren't valuable to God or God's people. It urges us to lead in ways that are not authentic to us, which means we don't leverage our God-given strengths as faithfully as we could. It causes us to doubt our decisions instead of using outcomes - whatever they might be - as fodder for ongoing discernment. It causes us to compare ourselves to others, which prompts discouragement that can eventually lead to our departure from ministry altogether.

From 11:00 am -12:30 pm central time on May 13 I will be offering an interactive workshop for clergywomen on managing impostor syndrome. Within a theological framing, we'll name what impostors are. As counterpoints, we'll discuss how we came to be where we are, what our impact is on our ministry settings, how we can remember our worth, and how we can develop mutual support networks to bolster one another when symptoms of impostor syndrome emerge. Participants will take away awareness and practices they can put in place to live out of God's call on their lives and God's love for God's people rather than out of the (sometimes internalized) expectations of others.

The cost for this workshop, which will take place via the Zoom online platform, is $20. There will be an option to add on three 1-hour coaching sessions, at a discounted rate of $225 (total for all three sessions), to help you apply what you learn. Click here to sign up.

If you are one of my coachees, something you might not know is that there is a costume box in my office, just off camera. Well, the costumes were in a repurposed DVR box. Then they moved to a giant trunk. Now they are in the trunk, two dresser drawers, and a quarter of my son’s closet. Our collection of dress-up clothes, capes, masks, hats, wigs and other accessories keeps expanding because I cannot recall the last day my four-year-old was not dressed up as one character or another: Batman (his go-to), Robin (Dick Grayson version, let’s be specific), Wonder Woman, Nemo, Aquaman, football player, Bumblebee (the DC super hero girl, not the insect), Captain America, Superman…the list goes on and on.

I am amazed at his commitment to his characters. When he decides who he is in the morning, he’s all in, with voice, facial expressions, and behaviors to match. If you are unclear about whom you are addressing, he will tell you. Very confidently. He will hum his own soundtrack. If my husband and I attempt to interrupt his expectations of what he needs to be doing as that character (Me: “It’s time to go to dinner.” Batman: “But I need to stay home and fight crime!”), then conversation, reframing, use of story elements, and lots of hugs are required for forward motion. After all, he is not just pretending to be a character. He is that character.

While he might be a bit intractable at times, his imagination also makes him very open. He understands gender – as much as any young child does – but he has no problem playing a female character. (And for the record, I have no issue with him doing so.) If he can’t wear all his accessories because he’s going to school or church or if he doesn’t have the exact clothes to be his persona, he will adapt. For example, I still am not sure how he made a red and navy striped shirt into an Aquaman costume, but hey, it worked for him.

In this manifestation of his inner life, I think my son has a lot to teach me about my pastoral presence. I need to own it. I need to be a minister in every sense of the word, not just play one on tv. And yet, I need to be ready to shatter expectations and deal with the fallout. I need to be open to inhabiting the pastor’s role my style, not just someone else’s perception of the role. How would my ministry be different with these perspective shifts? How would yours?

Now, if my kid would just teach me how to be brave enough to make these changes…

A couple of weeks ago I was interviewed for a Baptist News Global article titled “Clarify those expectations, experts tell pastor search committees.” Two people were quoted in the piece: Craig Janney, the reference and referral guru for the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship, and me. Craig is a bona fide expert. Churches and clergy from all over the country call him for help with ministerial searches. But the title said experts – plural – and the article included several statements from me that expounded on the headline.

I just got a promotion, I slowly realized.

In my shock, here were my inclinations:

Duck and cover my head with my hands, as if someone was about to throw something at me. (I actually did this.)

Make a snarky comment on social media about how much credibility the article had if it counted me as an expert. (It took all my willpower not to do this.)

Email Craig and apologize not only for the number of my quotes in the piece but also for the appearance of my photo above his. (I did not do this, as Craig is a humble and generous person who referred the reporter to me in the first place.)

I was suffering from an acute case of impostor syndrome.

After a few deep breaths, I started to think it through. I was on my first search committee as a junior in high school. I have been in the search process with more churches than I care to count in fourteen years of ministry. I have observed searches from the perspectives of an interim minister and of a coach working with clergy in transition. I have consulted with search teams. And the Louisville Institute saw fit to award me a grant to come up with a better-resourced, more spiritually-grounded approach to search & call.

In other words, I have done some things. OK, I can claim them. But what will it take for me to wear the clothes of someone with some expertise – and not feel like I’m swimming in them like the tween Josh at the very end of the movie Big? Time will tell.

In what roles do you have some growing room? Which roles are too tight? And what roles fit you just right? When you wear these clothes, give yourself a double thumbs-up in the mirror and a big ol’ Fonzie “heyyyyy!”

“I helped with…”

“I was part of a team that…”

“I collaborated on…”

The ability to cooperate with others toward a shared goal is an essential – and sometimes underrated and underutilized – skill in a leader. Without it, we’re all a bunch of free agents who don’t have anyone to refine our ideas, pool our resources with, or tame our wild hairs. And humility, the underlying trait that makes cooperation possible, is a mark of a Christ-like life.

But. When we have done a thing, when we have created or supervised or equipped or stabilized or trained or written or founded, we must be able to own it. Not brag about it, but lay claim to it. And here’s why:

• It’s the truth. Truth leads to trust among the parties involved, and trust leads to optimal individual and collective functioning.

• We set others up for failure when we don’t acknowledge our role. If we don’t take proper credit, chances are that someone else will actively seek or passively receive it. Then those folks are given more authority and more responsibility – without the experience and know-how to draw upon.

• We’ve got to practice presenting ourselves accurately to people who have power over our vocations. We must show that we can play well with others. But if we completely blend our leadership identity with that of the people we work with, search teams, judicatory leaders, and those who have the clout to recommend us for positions are left to wonder and assume about our personal capabilities. We miss out on opportunities, and others miss out on our leadership.

• Our self-esteem suffers when we downplay our role. I believe that many people – especially we womenfolk – are generous with success but selfish with failure. By that I mean that if something goes well, it’s because of all of us. If something goes wrong, it’s because of me alone. When we fall short, we should take our lumps but also examine the larger context. When we triumph, we can reflect on how we contributed to the success as a means of grasping and building on our strengths.

• It honors our God-given abilities and calling. We are each fearfully and wonderfully made to be certain people and do certain things. Because of how God equipped me, I was able to do a thing! Acknowledging our role, then, is testimony.

What, then, have you done this week, this month, this year? Make a list, then tuck it away for the next time you have an evaluation, need to fill out a profile, or feel down about your abilities. Pull it out and remember that “I did a thing!”