So many children grow up with a security blanket. Full disclosure – I didn’t have a security blanket. I had a security pillow, and its name was, “Mine.”
Mine and I went everywhere. There are many, many photos of Mine and Me. One of my earliest traumatic memories (as opposed to good memories) is setting Mine down while I was in the hardware store with my dad to look at the hand saws. Easily distracted (this has not changed), I was called away and when I remembered that I no longer had Mine with me, we headed back to the aisle with the saws and Mine was gone. Forever gone.
Insert one distressed parent and one really distressed child. I’m pretty sure Mine was distressed, too.
Thankfully, at that time in my life, I had a great security net. That net’s name was “Mom,” and Mom had figured out that Mine was prone to getting lost, therefore, she had a backup supply of homemade Mines hidden in her closet (there is another story about that for another time). In this instance, Mom came to the rescue, Mine was “found” and I was happy once again.
Years later, I outgrew Mine. Part of me still wishes that I had Mine, but alas, there is no Mine around any longer. No safety pillow around which I can wrap my arms, rest my head, or grab a duplicate of if I lose the present one. In a way, this is a good metaphor for growing older.
Today, I saw a tweet which I shared:
My comment when sharing the tweet?
“That one day Mr. Muse will decide that I’m not fun to be around AND I’m dumber than a box of rocks.
Neither is true, but, you know… insecurities.”
That’s the thing about insecurities… they aren’t logical. There is no rationale behind them. I’m a smart person, I know that I’m funny and Mr. Muse has TOLD me that he finds me funny. I also know I’m intelligent, not just because of my grades in school (Hooray for going back to school in middle age!), but because, I’m brilliant.
Yet, for all of that intelligence, insecurity is inescapable. We can be fun and intelligent people, and again, we still have issues with insecurity. It also seems like sharing our vulnerabilities causes others to want to refute them, beat them back for us and bare the truth to our eyes. But that doesn’t work.
Becoming secure is something only we can do for ourselves. In other words, the ability is mine, and mine alone.
What are your insecurities?
Musings of the Amusing Muse 
Wish I had read this before you came for lunch today…I could have told you tales about you and Mine, like when the stuffing was so old and dried out (shredded foam that had become crumbs inside the liner and you held it up by one corner and offered to give it to your baby sister. Another one of those signs of growing up!
Thanks again for lunch. Luv ya
I think I am going to blame growing up on hand-me-downs. 😉 When we were done with something we’re supposed to pass it along to someone else, right? Right?
I had my security blanket – it’s name was TiTi, and it went EVERYWHERE with me (apparently, I had an earlier security blanket, but when my grandfather asked if he could have it, I took a blanket from him). Apparently, TiTi was some Peruvian wool . . . my aunt just sent a bunch of my grandfather’s old stuff to me – with it is this blanket which I find myself drawn to — I know, certainly, that it’s made of the same material as TiTi.
Anyway, TiTi stayed with me until Lion Kitty Kat. Who I still have.
I have a friend who has a daughter who carried this doll with her everywhere. Knowing the doll would, likely, be misplaced, there were several spares purchased and hidden . . . but the friend’s daughter ALWAYS knew the “real” one.
But those are all little anecdotes to the real question of the post . . . I am CONVINCED that people are going to figure out I’m just a big fraud – I’m not good at anything, and, any minute now, someone is going to figure that out, and, instantaneously, everyone will see me for the fraud I am. Now, I just had a house full of people who drove hours to see me for the weekend. I’m going to hit publish on this comment and head to a meeting where I will increase my job security with the company tenfold. I just played a masterworks concert where I made tremendous music, and I woke up to find an email asking me to join a new band. I am not an impostor . . . yet I am convinced I am one.
TiTi sounds like a fantastic blanket! And also, it has a great story.
I think having impostor syndrome A) sucks, and B) logically is ridiculous, and yet, so damn difficult to shake. I realize that part of my issues with thinking I’m an impostor spring from my self-saddled perfectionism. I literally don’t require this level of “perfect” from anyone other than myself, and I don’t recall growing up and being told something wasn’t good enough, so I don’t know where it comes from. But the fear is there, and it’s real, and despite telling myself that it’s “all in my head”, I *just know* that someday, I’ll be discovered from the fraud I am. And THEN what?