Dear “Who, me?” – Hello old friend. I’d love to say it’s good to see you again, but this letter is about being honest. So, I can’t start with an untruth. I’ll start here instead.

We’re through.

Don’t get me wrong. You’ve been a faithful and loyal companion. Every time something wonderful has come along, or an opportunity has landed in my lap, or I’ve been complimented, you’ve been there with me, by my side. How do I know? Because beneath your veils of innocence, you’ve always delicately but clearly asked:: “Who, me?”

Oh, I get it. You’ve wanted to keep me humble. You’ve wanted to make sure that I’ve stayed on my game, never resting on my laurels…whatever that looks like. Your seemingly innocuous “who, me?” does a magnificent job of taking the wind out of my sails. It’s a mighty wind, but you’re truly powerful. You with your wide doe eyes.

I know that you’re just one member of the Impostor Complex clan that lives in my being. I know your kin:: “I’m not ready”, “I got lucky” and “they’ll find out that I’m a fake soon enough”. Your sweet softness masks the sharpest edge though, “Who, me?”.

At my best, I remember to receive compliments with the two words feared most by the Impostor Complex :: thank you. At my worst, YOUR two words send me back to the recesses of my insecurities. To dark places. Who, me? indeed.

If I sound fed up, it’s because I am, “Who, me?”. I truly thought we were through a while back. I thought you’d packed up your bags and moved along.

But when Ronna said she was traveling across three time zones to spend the weekend earlier with me this month, I heard you in the arrangement-making conversations. Your whispered “who, me?” echoed her every response.

Me:: What do you want to see while you’re here? Ronna:: Just you. You:: (Who, me?)

Who do you want to see? Just you. (Who, me?)

What do you want to do? Be with you. (Who, me?)

YES. Me.

You’ve been a steadfast teacher. You keep sending me to dark corners of my self to show me where there is lack. To keep my God-given light hidden from me…the very light that others can see so clearly. But it’s through your work on me that I can actually see that my mind, my heart, and my light are quite enough to bring all of the joys that I desire in this life.

And I can see this::

Going into darkness is not a reasonable response to joy. twitter-bird-tiny-blue

It’s that light that brings me the opportunities, grace, acknowledgments and gifts that I desire. And so it’s standing in that light that I will hold my arms wide open to receive.

I’m coming to see you. We’d like to interview you. You got the gig. Write the book. I’ve wanted to work with you for years. I made this for you. I love you.

YES. Me.

So, yeah. We’re through “Who, me?”.

I’ve learned what I’ve needed to learn and I release you. May you transform into a kinder, more compassionate way of teaching. And may the outcome of your work be the same:: that the next person you visit be empowered to stand in their light and to root deeply and firmly into YES. Me. For good.

So long,


++++++++ This post is part of the Let it Go Project: a collection of stories leading up to a beautiful releasing ritual, hosted by Sas Petherick on the 30th of January. All the details for this free event are here. Be inspired by other posts in this project, and share what you are ready to let of of on the Let it Go Project Community Page. For good.