I’m a grad student; I understand impostor syndrome. I worry that compared to my colleagues, I’m a fraud who lacks work ethic and original ideas. I even know about the debates over who is allowed to experience impostor syndrome, so in addition to worrying that I’ve tricked my university into taking me seriously, I worry that I’ve deluded myself into feeling like a fraud on purpose so I can claim sympathy I don’t deserve. It’s exhausting, useless, and inescapable. My rational brain believes my advisory committee when they say I’m doing fine. But I feel like an impostor grad student anyway, and it doesn’t surprise me that I feel like an impostor Pagan, too.
This post was prompted by a Paganism-related achievement: I set out to do something I thought would improve my understanding and deepen my practice, and I accomplished that goal. (I didn’t even realize how classic impostor syndrome this is until I started typing that sentence.) The goal was to find Pagan writers on the internet and familiarize myself with their work.
Until now, I’ve pretty much stuck to researching and documenting facts about Sabbats. History and theology are important, but I’ve known since the inception of this blog that I would also need to be familiar with contemporary practice, current events, and community. I figured there must be a whole body of work on the internet somewhere dealing with that stuff, and indeed there is: according to my current understanding, it’s at Patheos. For the last few weeks I’ve been devouring articles on the Patheos Pagan channel, trying to learn as much as I can about who’s influential, what’s being hotly debated, which gods people worship, what activities people do as part of their spiritual practice, why people follow the paths they follow, and what experienced Pagans want new Pagans like me to know. It’s been eye-opening.
On one hand, I’ve made progress on my spiritual journey. I have a much more solid grasp on what Paganism is, in all its various manifestations; I’ve been exposed to diverse perspectives; I’ve corrected some of my misconceptions; and I’ve gained confidence to make decisions and move forward despite not having all the answers. I’ve learned a lot about writing about Paganism, too. Finding and familiarizing myself with contemporary Pagan voices was necessary and productive.
On the other hand, I’ve begun to entertain new doubts. How can I possibly write about Paganism when I’m so inexperienced compared to these people? With all these thoughtful, well-read, longtime Pagan writers to choose from, who would ever want to read my work? How dare I be Pagan—and worse, discuss my experience publicly—before I read absolutely everything written on the subject and confirm that what I’m doing is wholly authentic, original, insightful, and welcome? (It’s a familiar question: just replace “be Pagan” with “write a thesis.”) On a good day, I can rationalize these doubts away. But on a bad day, these new doubts join forces with older doubts, and I worry.
I worry that I’m too weird to be Pagan. In my experience, people think Paganism is weird, and I cringe at the thought of adding another layer of weirdness to my life. I’m queer, I’ve experienced mental illness, I collect dolls, I do historical reenactment, I chose to move from the US to Canada (many Americans find this weird), I’m studying medieval literature rather than global finance or software engineering or something, and I don’t have a “real job” that involves sitting in an office from nine to five. I sometimes have the impression that people don’t take me seriously, and I worry that adding “Pagan” to the list of words that describe me would further reduce my credibility.
I also worry that I’m too normal to be Pagan. I don’t spell magic with a k, I prefer jeans to Ren Faire garb, and I have no interest in calling myself Lady GoldenStar FoxRaven or something. I’m skeptical of paranormal encounters and New Age practices, I wasn’t traumatized (much) by past religious experiences, and I’ve never heard the voice of a god or goddess. I don’t consider myself a hippie or a loner. I know these are stereotypes and not requirements for being Pagan, but it sometimes feels like Paganism is a countercultural social group that I don’t fit into.
My final major doubt was exacerbated by my newfound knowledge of Pagan writing online. I learned that mainstream news outlets are reporting increased interest in Paganism, witchcraft, and the occult, especially among young women. Paganism appears to be trendy, and I worry that I’m just subconsciously influenced by what’s popular right now. Part of me—a snobby part, no doubt—feels free to dismiss this concern, because I’m hardly in this for Instagram likes. But even when I remember that I’ve been curious to explore Paganism for literally the last two decades, I worry that I’m jumping on the bandwagon now because it feels safe, and I was simply too cowardly to follow my truth sooner.
As I write this post, I feel silly. I’m serious about Paganism, and I write because it seems necessary, even if no one likes or even reads what I have to say. I know that I don’t have to conform to a set of stereotypes to be Pagan, and judgmental people will judge me whether I’m Pagan or not. I’ve read some good advice about Pagan practice, and I think it’s time to take it to heart: less worrying, more doing. But I suspect my impostor syndrome will never really disappear.
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