Impostor Syndrome, P.T. Barnum & the Enneagram

I think I figured out the primary reason I’ve been so off-kilter the last couple of days: Impostor Syndrome.

I didn’t expect this. Not now. Not when I hadn’t experienced any of my usual triggers. And when I recognized it, and then immediately saw what caused it, I got pretty annoyed with myself.

Over the years, I’ve discovered a common theme for when Impostor Syndrome shows up. For those unfamiliar with the term, Impostor Syndrome is used as a bit of a catch-all phrase for any time a creative person (or any person) is afraid that whatever Thing that just happened will finally reveal to the world that they’re a fraud, a hack, and that they don’t deserve the rewards for the work they’ve done.

One remedy for this that’s often bandied about is to remind yourself that the only people who don’t get Impostor Syndrome are actual impostors. That doesn’t work for me.

For me, I need to understand where the feeling is coming from before I can move past it. So, over the years, I’ve noticed some common threads about Impostor Syndrome:

1. It’s a form of fear. (Duh.) It’s the fear that you will be exposed as undeserving or unworthy of success or that others will hate your work. In other words, fear of negative repercussions for doing something that matters to you or being in a position you feel unqualified for or unworthy of.

2. It tends to show up when you’ve done something risky that makes you feel vulnerable, or when you’re contemplating doing so. E.g. Sending your work to an editor, beta readers, ARC readers, release day, getting a bad review, etc.

3. And—this just in—it’s a need for validation from people whose opinion matters to you that your work is actually good, in whatever way you define “goodness”.

That last one? That’s what I’ve been experiencing the last few days. It was triggered by several factors colliding at once, which I won’t detail here.

But now that I see it, I am moving past it. Now I just have to move past the deep resentment of the fact that I felt this way, which is, um, complicated.

Yes, I have feelings about my feelings. (Always.)

A ringmaster. What an odd picture to illustrate this, amiright? Don’t worry, we’ll get to it…

I Once Was Blind

I’ve talked briefly here about my journey of self-discovery with the Enneagram that started this spring while I was revising Every Star that Shines. And part of the reason for the briefness is partly that I’m afraid discussing it in depth might look a little bit too much like navel gazing for a public blog and would be better saved for my personal journal, and partly because I’ve discovered some uncomfortable things about myself that I wish didn’t exist, so talking about them feels very risky.

Okay, I think more definitions are needed. I’ll try to keep it brief.

My Way Over-simplified Definition of the Enneagram:

The Enneagram diagram with common type labels. The lines connect you with other types whose traits you also have access to, and you can also exhibit traits from one or both “wings’—the types on either side of you. But your core motivation comes down to your primary type.

If you’re not familiar with the Enneagram, it’s a very old (like, centuries or millennia) tool that looks, at first glance, like a personality test dividing all people into nine personality types. (Or like one of the weirdest geometric symbols ever.)

When you dig deeper, you discover that the divisions are much more granular—down to fifty-four, with near-infinite variations on that.

But the tool isn’t actually about putting people in boxes, but rather, it’s designed as a tool of self-discovery and growth. That’s because each of the nine types is defined by their passion (one of the Christian “seven deadly sins” plus fear and deceit), which is the force that drives us, even though how this manifests can look very different from person to person.

Until we’re aware of what the passion is, it drives us unconsciously. Once we recognize it, we can begin to grow into healthier versions of ourselves, no longer driven by subconscious behaviours and, hopefully, reducing the amount of damage we do to ourselves and others because of our blind spots.

Now I See

I am an Enneagram type Three. A bit about the Three:

Type Three: The Performer/The Achiever
Passion: Deceit (as in self-deceit or vanity)
Core longing: To be worthy or valuable
Blind spot: Acting like a human doing instead of a human being. Not understanding that who you are isn’t the same as what you do.

Because the Enneagram is so old and is constantly being iterated on, you can find information about it all over the place. (I recommend the Chestnut-Paes Enneagram Academy website, YouTube channel, and podcast, any book by Bea Chestnut, and Drew Newkirk’s YouTube channel for folks wanting to dive in and know more. The Road Back to You by Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile (affiliate links included here) is also a good primer for getting oriented with all this stuff, though I’m not sure I would have found my own type from that book if I started there).

Even though I was pretty sure I was a Three when I started learning about all this, many of the more detailed descriptions of the Three didn’t resonate with me at first. It wasn’t until I found my subtype that I knew for sure I was a Three.

So, in what feels like a painfully soul-baring act of vulnerability to me, but which, to you, will probably only be interesting information (unless this hits close to home for you too), here is the definition of my subtype from the Chestnut-Paes Enneagram Academy website:

Self-Preservation Three: Security

The Countertype

The Self-Preservation three has a sense of vanity for having no vanity. This Three also wants to be admired by others but avoids openly seeking recognition. Not just satisfied with looking good, the SP three strives to be good. They are determined to be a good person—to match the perfect model of how a person should be. Being the perfect model of quality implies virtue, and virtue implies a lack of vanity. SP Threes seek a sense of security through being good, working hard, and being effective and productive.

I’m sure you see the inherent conflict in being driven by vanity while wanting not to have any vanity. So, now we’re about to get back to the feelings about my feelings.

“And that is the beauty of the Three, our gift: inspiration and authenticity.”

This year, I’ve been learning to observe myself in the context of my type, and to see how these behaviours play out. To be honest, I’ve often struggled with seeing the positive aspects of my type, and, frankly, I always have. I’ve spent most of my life wondering what it is people like or admire about me. (An enneagram Three seeks validation through achievement so we can feel worthy, but I have a very strong Two wing, which means I also have a strong need to be found likeable.) On the rare occasions where I’ve figured out something of value that I contribute (note the focus on value and action—true to type), it’s always felt like this huge revelation that I then perpetually doubt as true.

Yes, I see how ridiculous this is. Acknowledging that something doesn’t make a lot of sense isn’t the same as feeling any differently about it.

So, this morning, when I saw what was at the root of the feelings I’ve been having the last few days—the need for validation—I was both relieved to have figured it out, unsurprised that that’s what was at the core (I mean, I’m a Three, and I know it now), and then super irritated that I felt that need at all.

Seeking Grace

To be honest, I’ve spent a lot of time this year irritated that I need validation from anyone. Which is, of course, where the complications come in—while the Three needs validation, the stance of my subtype (the countertype to the Three) is not wanting to need validation—vanity about having no vanity.

Which means that when I actually receive validation from someone and feel good about it, I then get irritated with myself for that. Like, how messed up is that?

So, here I was, my Impostor Syndrome triggered by feeling the need to be validated, which irritated me. But if someone had validated me by acknowledging my good work in the way I wanted, I’d also be irritated—not at them, but at myself for desperately wanting that validation in the first place and then feeling good about it.

Okay, so we’re definitely in territory that I should talk to a therapist about here. I see that. However, I suspect they’re going to tell me the same thing I would tell a friend who said this to me: to give myself grace.

Like Sarajane Case says in her book The Honest Enneagram, a pattern of behaviour isn’t bad just because it’s part of my type.

I’m learning to see how this is true. One of the ways I’m learning this is by recognizing other Threes I see, especially in stories.

The first major breakthrough I had about this was listening to the soundtrack for The Greatest Showman, a story I am very familiar with. I hadn’t listened to the music for about a year at the time (which wasn’t long after discovering these painful truths about myself).

The reason this was a breakthrough was that P.T. Barnum, as portrayed in the movie, is a Three—a different subtype than me, but definitely a Three. Which means most of the songs in the movie are based around Three themes. In fact, if you, like me, tear up every time you hear “This is Me” or “Come Alive”, you might be a Three too (or have a strong Three wing from Two or Four). (Note: I’m pretty sure Alexander Hamilton as portrayed in the musical Hamilton is also not only a Three, but possibly my same subtype.)

While re-experiencing the story of The Greatest Showman in the context of the Enneagram, I realized something: even before P.T. Barnum learned his lessons about what matters most and putting people before success, he still did a lot of good. He helped people. He inspired them to become something and achieve something they probably never would have on their own. Even while he was still unconsciously spurred by his passion and was causing emotional harm because of it, he was still a force for good—an ability that was amplified after he got in touch with the truth he needed to learn to become whole.

And that is the beauty of the Three, our gift: inspiration and authenticity.

I still have a hard time seeing it sometimes. And I definitely have a hard time remembering to hold grace for myself for the ways my passion spurs less-than-desirable behaviours—especially because those same behaviours can be exactly what’s so beautiful about my type when in the right context.

My journey has been in sorting out the difference. And learning to give myself as much grace as I tend to give others.

My Fears Relieved

“My journey has been in sorting out the difference. And learning to give myself as much grace as I tend to give others.”

Going back to Impostor Syndrome: while I’m pretty sure I’ve now found the root cause of why I experience it, the root cause for you may be different, especially if you’re a different Enneagram type.

For instance, Fours, whose passion is envy and whose core longing is to be significant, tend to suffer a lot from comparisonitis, and may be susceptible to Impostor Syndrome because they feel they haven’t contributed something as unique or beautiful to the world as someone else has, and therefore don’t deserve recognition for what they have contributed. Other types probably have their own passion as the root.

And I wouldn’t be surprised if some types don’t often experience Impostor Syndrome—for instance, Eights, the Challengers/Protectors. I have a son who’s an Eight, and I suspect Impostor Syndrome just won’t be a big concern for him. (Don’t worry, he’ll have other challenges. ;-D)

So, if you’ve stuck with me through this long discussion, I’m very curious: do you tend to experience Impostor Syndrome? If so, do you know your Enneagram type? I would love to know if there’s a correlation between Impostor Syndrome and Enneagram type. Let me know in the comments.

And, even if I’m now talking to the wind, this post has achieved its purpose—I know what caused the feeling. I can tell the rest of my day is going to be better already.