Yaritza Holguin
Although highly qualified for her summer internship in Washington, Yaritza Holguin felt a lingering doubt about whether she belonged – a deep unease aggravated by the frequent acts of racism and anti-immigrant bias she and her colleagues encountered on Capitol Hill. In this story, Yaritza tells how she coped with this feeling, known as impostor syndrome, by connecting with others who she identified with, seeking advice from women leaders she admired, and practicing self-affirmation.
As I stepped into the Capitol of the United States, I encountered a sea of tailored suits. They marched swiftly down the marbled hallways, in and out of elevators with wood detailing and gold accents. Those who occupied the hallways spoke with the air of privilege and ivy-league education. I walked past the rows of wooden plaques inscribed with the names of representatives I recognized from news articles, and into the office where I would be interning for the next ten weeks.
I took a seat in the wood paneled office and suddenly an uncomfortable feeling swiftly drew the oxygen from my lungs and pressed heavily on my chest: Do I really belong here? I examined my counterparts in their perfectly steamed suits, looked down at the striped dress my mother had gifted me for this sort of occasion and thought, “I should have worn a blazer!” I smiled and hoped no one could see through my calm demeanor and into my insecurities.
“Of course I belong in this space,” I reassured myself, taking a deep breath.
“I’ve completed half my master’s degree and have years of experience working within the community this congressional office represents. I grew up in the district and spent the last six months interning in the congressman’s district office,” I reminded myself.
As I took in the regalia of Dominican culture adorning the room, I asked myself, “why wouldn’t I belong?”
Yet the feeling of self-doubt persisted, inflamed by the constant reminders that my legitimacy is a matter of public debate in Washington. I walked down the same halls as right-wing politicians who explicitly called my people criminals and rapists. I answered phone calls from Americans throughout the country who screamed racist remarks and even questioned if the congressman I worked for was undocumented. Meanwhile, the Trump administration’s “zero-tolerance” immigration policy and undercounting of the death toll of Puerto Ricans after Hurricane Maria blatantly stripped people like my parents, people like me, of our humanity.
The debilitating unease that I felt has a name: impostor syndrome. Common among women of color, it is the feeling of intellectual phoniness that despite evidence of high achievement drives us to believe we are not intelligent, capable, or creative [1]. This results in an uncomfortable sense of feeling like a fraud in our position – like our presence is not justified – regardless of our accomplishments and abilities. The feeling is exacerbated in environments where we are exposed to microaggressions and overt racism.
One way I coped with impostor syndrome was to discuss my feelings with others I identified with. I connected with other interns in my office who were CUNY students, and many were immigrants or first-generation Americans. We shared stories of self-doubt and cringe-worthy moments of feeling as if we were two inches tall. In each other, we found comfort in knowing we were not alone in questioning whether we belong.
Another step I took was to ask for advice from people I look up to. During a panel discussion at the Congressional Hispanic Leadership Institute conference, I mustered up the courage to address the looming cloud that hovered over my existence.
“As a woman and person of color, how do you deal with impostor syndrome; feeling like you don’t belong in a room full of people who may have biased opinions about people who look like you, or are from places similar to where you come from?” I asked the panelists.
Nathalie Rayes, Vice President of Public Affairs at Grupo Salinas, answered the question by recounting her experience when called upon to advise former president Obama. Despite her accolades, experience, and extensive preparation, she too had experienced the internal conflict of feeling like an impostor and questioned her presence in the Oval Office. Yet after saying her piece, Ms. Rayes realized that not only was she worthy of taking up space in this room, she was one of the most well-versed experts in this meeting.
Listening to women like Ms. Rayes reinforced a third important coping mechanism that I used: self-affirmation. I took the time to recognize my accomplishments. I wrote down everything I am proud of achieving and acknowledged the effort I exerted to do so. In moments of doubt I reminded myself that I am worthy, that I deserve to take up space and be heard. I reminded myself that my parents and ancestors sacrificed more than I can comprehend to provide me with the opportunity to be where I am. As the one of the few Latinx in the room, my presence matters. I did not get to where I am by a stroke of luck; I worked for it. And despite all of the forces actively working to discount our humanity, we could be successful.
As I navigate through the different stages of my career, I might never be able to fully eradicate the impostor syndrome. Overcoming the insecurities and societal forces that drive us to feel like we don’t belong is an ongoing process. But I know I will not allow this internal conflict to hamper my ability to continue moving forward and growing. Like many others before me, I can and will prevail.
[1] Clance, P. R., & Imes, S. A. (1978). The impostor phenomenon in high achieving women: Dynamics and therapeutic intervention. Psychotherapy: Theory, Research & Practice, 15(3), 241-247.
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