From the archives: Proving Myself Wrong

A look into impostor syndrome and depression during my senior year of college

Throughout my college career, I was part of a student-led news publication. I wore several hats there: editorial cartoons, podcasting, editing and writing. This experience gave me new insight into the world of journalism, as well as conducting proper interviews and growing my portfolio of work. I worked for about three and a half years, later undertaking an internship at the Indiana Statehouse for political writing.

But for every story I took pride in - every carefully-crafted cartoon, every podcast success, there were the half-assed attempts I believe I soon gained a reputation for. Stories submitted last minute. Shitty drawings. Podcasts with poorly-managed audio and unprepared ramblings. They multiplied. Sometimes they didn’t even appear. And the worst part was that I felt my team didn’t care what happened. Whether I submitted something or not, the deadlines and commitments felt flimsy and highly negotiable. There were even times I was asked to rush content (i.e. cartoons) the night of deadlines. My work may have faltered somewhat, but I took pride in not just slapping a drawing together the night of (for a publication, no less!).

I struggled hard my senior year and felt like every day was a challenge to get up and at least give 10%. I still showed up and I still tried, but the cracks in my facade were beginning to show. I lost the drive to make my work special or even good for quite awhile.

This story isn’t unique or special, mind you - college and depression go together about as well as a PB&J - but it’s worth retelling. Even through my impostor syndrome and feeling like I never really meshed with a lot of my peers in college put a massive damper on my self-esteem, there were still many glowing moments of my education that I still remember and look back on fondly. I made some of my best friends at college without really trying.

So without further ado, here is the original senior farewell piece (which can be read unaltered here):

Getting accepted to the first and only college I applied to as a high school junior had me ecstatic. I was going to be part of something much bigger than myself and get closer to doing what I’ve always wanted to do. How cool was that? Sure it was a big responsibility, but my test scores and integrity all through school proved that I could take the challenge.

Or did it?

Despite the celebratory hibachi dinner, despite the congratulatory letters and emails I received, despite the blue-and-yellow paperwork ushering me in as a Grizzly, I felt like I was constantly doing a double-take. This was too good to be true, right? 

My schoolwork – despite the effort of my AP classes and the college-level classes I’d already had under my belt – was nothing special. I never felt like I was putting in any work to maintain my grades. I felt like I had fooled everyone into thinking I was good.

Wikipedia defines this as “impostor syndrome”, in which someone feels that their accomplishments are fraudulent and that one day their true self – a supposed fraud – will be revealed, or their accomplishments will be otherwise trashed. Every accomplishment is a result of trickery or just sheer luck. There was no skill required to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes, after all.

That definitely resonated with me. I imagined situations in my mind in which my name wasn’t supposed to be chosen for getting accepted to college and that someday they’d pull the rug out from under me, along with that sweet, sweet scholarship money. This combination of personal achievement and anxiety made me feel even worse. It was somewhat ironic that I felt bad about feeling bad. 

Nonetheless, I was going to be entering college. After a Grizzly overnight stay with the incomparable Erica Irish, I had to finish my senior year of high school before jumping into this new adventure.

To call my freshman year rocky would be an understatement. I was matched with a roommate who ended up being my polar opposite. It was ironic to me how our matching personality quiz clearly didn’t resemble how we really lived. I always felt like a nuisance and like someone who was trying too hard to be liked - that I was putting on some facade to make myself seem cooler around her and her friends. 

After a few nights of crying to my parents over the phone and wondering what made our living situation so hellish, we thankfully got swapped. A friend from down the hall took my place, and I moved in a couple of doors down with a sophomore who changed my college experience for the better. I knew her better after a brief conversation than I had ever known my roommate of two weeks. She re-introduced me to Dungeons and Dragons, which got me a group of friends that I still love and stay connected to. 

Joining The Franklin felt like a natural next step, considering my high school journalism background. I decided to write about local shops that I felt many students hadn’t been too interested in. There was so much out there, within walking distance, just waiting to be explored. Getting the experience to learn about and write about the world around me – even just the world right off campus – was an amazing experience and helped me to flex my then-weak interviewing muscles.

Despite the praise I received, something told me my work wasn’t enough or worth being proud of. It was good, but it barely held a candle to the work of my peers, who seemed to dedicate every waking moment to their craft. I felt guilty for not being that outwardly dedicated, despite showing a vested interest in my work and the publication itself. The work I put in means much more than what it looks like I’m invested in, but at the time and even occasionally I still worry that I’m not as dedicated as my peers.

It’s not fair to dismiss my entire college experience as something plagued by my own anxieties, though. I can attest to the fact that it was much more enjoyable once I had figured out who I needed to surround myself with and who felt like home. Many a sleepless night was spent in the newsroom editing away with the best teammates ever. The same went for the commuter lounge, which was our D&D group’s stomping grounds for letting our imaginations (and our dice) fly.

 I know deep down what I’m capable of just based on my track record. During my time with The Franklin, I’ve written as an opinion columnist and worked as an editor through the disconnect of COVID and Zoom calls; pioneered and published our own podcast, which gets streams in Australia and Europe of all places; created captions for an Emmy award-winning PBS documentary; and created editorial cartoons. Those are all tangible examples of my hard work and my investment in my major, actively disproving my theory.

I’ve got no clue where I’m going after college. I can only hope I end up somewhere fun that allows me to continue my creative endeavors and evolve even further as a journalist. It’s impossible for me to have faked all of my success and abilities.

They’ve always been there, and they’ll continue to represent me.

(Author’s note: I’m not working in my field and haven’t sat down to write in six months. Whew. Expect something not from the archives very soon, I’m feeling inspired for once.)

-Ari