Loneliness and Impostor Syndrome

"Come into the world, Alone. And you go out of the world, Alone. But in between, There's you and me."

"Alone", Trampled by Turtles

It's a fact of life, everyone feels lonely and like they aren't good enough from time to time. Even the smartest, most qualified doctors and scientists doubt their abilities and whether they are worthy of being a part of their peer groups.

Recently I started reading, Committed: Dispatches from a Psychiatrist in Training, by Adam Stern, M.D. Adam Stern is a psychiatrist, who through his nonfiction novel recalls in a playful and storytelling manner, what his residency at Harvard Medical was like. He tells tales of his peers, his romances, his insecurities, and the patients he treated, who seemed to also treat him.

As I write this, I am only on page 43, but I am struck by the doctor's honesty and his feelings of inadequacy as he goes from being a medical student, to a doctor. He seems to struggle with all of the things I struggle with-- loneliness, insecurity, the feeling of not being good enough, an impostor. Through his dealings with patients, Dr. Stern seems to learn just as much about himself and the human condition as he is learning about being a real doctor.

So far, this novel (to me) has been shocking, raw and awe-inspiring. It seems to strongly relate to so many of the things preached in early recovery, namely, the importance of a peer group who really understand what you're going through.

In the prologue of the novel he writes,

"I have a recurring dream in which I look down and notice for the first time that I'm soaring above the earth (...) and the act of looking down seems to cause me to lose whatever momentum it was that propelled me upward (...). Sometimes I awaken just before I begin to fall, and other times the dream ends with my discovery of an unexpected solution. The version that gives me the most comfort is when I look to one side or the other and notice that I'm not alone (...) when I see someone floating right next to me, my fear still exists, but it's more surmountable. Maybe we can figure this out together" (Stern, Prologue).

This quote resonated with me so much. In recovery, and in all of life, the simple act of knowing you are not alone is often enough to give you the courage to keep going. Maybe we can figure this out together. Two heads are always better than one.

Personally, I have a tendency to feel and think that I'm the only one, that I'm somehow so special and unique that only I have the feelings and experiences that I do. This is not to say that every person isn't unique and destined to do and play a great role that only they can, but our feelings are not unique to only us. All typically developing humans feel the same emotions and a lot of times for similar reasons. Despite what you think, most of us are going through life for the first time, we're all amateurs at this WHOLE thing. I felt that this quote really spoke to the fear of life. We are all terrified, we come into and leave this world alone and who we encounter in that time in between, who we choose to go through battle with, that makes all the difference.

In the novel, Dr. Stern tells stories of his patients. While names and some physical details about the patients have been changed for legal and medical reasons, the morals and ailments of the characters are the same. One patient plays the Romeo role of a "Romeo and Juliet" couple in the ward. When his Juliet leaves, he is completely heartbroken and suicidal. Stern's attending on one of his night shifts, prescribes something to the Romeo that shocks Stern and speaks even further to the nature of the human condition, and what I take the moral of the novel (thus far) to be.

"'Love is a powerful force, Paul. You feel tremendous loss. That is understandable (...) You are still having suicidal thoughts?' He nodded. "Then you will remain here with us, and this is what I want you to do. Every day, you will awake at seven a.m. and spend an hour in the dayroom. Talk to every person that comes in, even if you don't feel like it-- especially if you do not feel like it (...) We will check on your progress. Understand?'" (Stern, 42).

The power of human connection, while it cannot heal all wounds, is stronger than any medicine. The reason we go to AA or any other sober support group is because our connection with people like us, people with shared experiences and common problems, heal the wounds that often led us to drink in the first place. The feeling that we were different, the feeling that we didn't belong.

The last thing the attending offers to Stern is this;

"I (Stern) stared at him in disbelief until he disappeared into the hall. 'Breakfast (...)?' I asked. 'You think an antidepressant would work for him, Dr. Stern?' 'Well, no.' 'Nor do I, this young man has a fractured self (...) If we give the young man the gift of time, it allows his self to reform and for other, potentially stronger bonds to take hold. We will not cure this man's crisis of identity, but we can hold him up until he finds his footing.' (Stern, 43).

There you have it, time and good company do heal (almost) all. At least, in my unlicensed opinion, all of the medicines in the world cannot heal everything. The power of time to heal with people who care and understand is stronger than any drug anyone can prescribe, and is certainly more powerful than the ways many of us try to heal the wounds and emptiness we have inside of us. No drink or drug will give you the feeling of truly belonging like truly belonging does. You are not too different, you are never alone.