You Know That I'm No Good

Ugh. Imposter syndrome. Yet another disease I can’t run from. And unfortunately just like cancer, it does NOT discriminate. No matter the credentials, no matter the situation: it can strike when you LEAST expect it like a scary, sad-faced jack-in-the-box clown. mmm... Boo! 

Some backstory. See, my stepfather lost his sister Jane to breast cancer thirty years ago. Someone I'd never had the pleasure of meeting, but can only imagine was the female equivalent of my stepdad John. Likely a beautiful soul simply robbed of a beautiful, long life. He's been walking in the Race For The Cure in her honor ever since. A few days ago, he invited me to join. I hesitated because, if I must admit, walking and/or running and I are kind of frenemies. 😬

Nonetheless, I suited up in my best "please donate to this cause, but please don't pity me" ensemble and we hit the streets of downtown Columbus ready to slay both the day and cancer away. A few minutes later and we were stomping through the city streets-turned-runways filled with what felt like HUNDREDS of motorcycles revving their engines for me and my family as I waved my pink doo rag in the wind. It was poetic. My camo, obviously non-elective G.I. Jane look, and bold arm-graffiti messaging clearly could NOT be unseen. Mission accomplished. 

All those people dressed in pink... it was such a beautiful display of love and support and strength and beauty. All the things. And all the feels. Damn, I needed that, John, thank you. And in the end it culminated into the final stretch. 

I saw the pink balloons lined up aiming to achieve what appeared to be a segregation of the "VIPs". John pointed over to them and yelled out to me "Leah, that's for YOU!" Confused, but always receptive to an opportunity to feel special, I approached the M.C. shepherding the chosen few into the line-up. Being bald, I seemed an obvious recruit. "Right this way, survivor!" he called out to me. And I stopped dead in my tracks. "Oh, no, no... I'M not a survivor... yet. Right now I'm just surviv-ING!" And his eyes grew three times bigger. "You kidding me? Yes! You ARE a survivor! Get OVER there!" And he confidently pointed me to Survivor's Row near-whispering beautiful girl under his breath with a smile.  

Walking the pink path alone, I looked back at my family just a few footsteps away. And I immediately felt like a fraud. I felt like I owed someone an explanation and even caught myself looking around like an under-ager afraid to get caught at a nightclub. 

I mean, my "struggle" and side effects so far? A haircut, three hot flashes, and one wobbly day of pseudo nausea. THIS is what the world’s come out of the woodwork to support and pray for?!? I'm starting to feel like I need to put on a SHOW or something! [Dramatic fall backwards with right wrist to forehead, hitting the ground uttering a loud “bleh”, sticking tongue out Daffy Duck style]

Then it hits me. Wait, whoa. Remember that huge list of side effects from “Chemo Class”? All the warnings of the things that could go wrong? The umpteen prescriptions that were pre-filled to fight them all now sitting unused in my bathroom drawer…? Could maybe all the non-denominational “positive vibes” and heavily denominational prayers, prayer groups, and holy crucifix gifts actually be making… a DIFFERENCE?!? [LONG pause]…

So, yes, I closed out the beautiful race day feeling like a fraudulent cheater but still accepting all the outpouring of love and support, if only to heal my aching heart from all the mental warfare Cancer has been playing inside my head. And now I’m stepping into a new level of my self-made imposter matrix with wigs… like me posing as ME.   

I’ve decided to own it, feeling like a fraud or maybe just the walking evidence of what the power of prayer and positivity can really achieve. I don't know. Maybe it just feels like the end of the line, but I still got something to say. My alter-egos can help me explain...