Let’s do a recap of what we know to be true about the Imposter Complex by now, shall we?

We know it wants to keep us out of action. It’s an instrument of evolution, designed to ensure folks don’t evolve too quickly.

We know it wants to keep us alone and isolated, disconnecting us from our most fundamental need to belong

We know it wants to have us doubt our capacity, making every time we step up to do our meaningful work or say the hard thing that much more challenging. (“Who do you think YOU are?” and all that.)

We know it accomplishes this by having us believe 12 specific lies.

We know it bullies us into hiding out in specific habits: perfectionism, procrastination, comparison, people-pleasing, diminishment, and leaky boundaries.

(And we also know those coping mechanisms hold golden shadows too and are the keys to your ICONIC Identity, so don’t be gaslighting yourself, my friend.)

All this to say, we know a lot.

But I do love me some metaphors, and here are a few for you to play with.

Five Useful Metaphors

You don’t need to use all of these with yourself or your team, as that can be confusing. As ever, find what resonates for you.

1. The Imposter Complex is a party crasher, stealing the joy and celebration you’ve earned.

It’s perpetually telling us we haven’t done “enough” to celebrate. And of course, as I’ve said a million times, the ego wants to want more than it wants to get. That’s why it’s IMPERATIVE that we track our wins. Drink deeply from the chalice of all you HAVE done and been.

2. It’s like quicksand. The more you fight it, the more it sucks you in.

(I mean, I GUESS that’s how quicksand works if Saturday morning cartoons taught me anything.) The more you try to tackle any ONE aspect of its habits (perfectionism, procrastination, comparison, people-pleasing, diminishment, and leaky boundaries), the more likely another one is gonna pop up. That’s why we need to get into the belly of the beast. (Consider that a bonus metaphor.)

3. It’s a backseat driver scrambling to take over the wheel of your Formula 1 race car.

I mean, not all the time. Just at the really important turns.  One of my favorite clients said that the work I do is like a Formula 1 suit. If, somehow, the Imposter Complex DOES manage to gain control of the car and hurl you into a corner, the work will protect you.

4. It’s a quick moving fog.

You can learn to predict when it shows up, (usually on the precipice of something important, like say, a hairpin turn on the racetrack of your activation) but generally can flick on your flashlight faster when you know how it operates… and how it operates uniquely for you. Because that’s the thing…the Imposter Complex impacts us each distinctly.

5. It’s a magnet.

Depending on how you wield it, it can either repel connection by keeping you isolated or attract beautiful connection. Because what you should ALSO know is that you are in exquisite company. Go ahead and name it. And watch as the empathy and that desired connection spread and grow.

So yeah, the Imposter Complex is indeed a tameable beast. But again, we need to get into its belly to control it.

Which you can do right here in this training as we tackle Imposter Complex together, freeing you up to be the whole you that you are.

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Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.

I turned 50 years old today.

It’s an age that holds a lot of meaning for some.

I know some folks who would give anything to get to this age.
I know plenty who say that life begins at this age.

Most people say it’s just a number.

And then there’s Mrs A – our Trinidadian octagenarian neighbour who revealed that she would only celebrate my 50th and my 75th with that wild twinkle in her eye that I have come to count on over the years.

Given that sagacity is one of the few things our culture seems to prize about aging, I thought I’d share what I have LEARNED over 50 years…to like about myself. 

Because acknowledgement is a sacred gift, and it’s one I’m gifting myself this year.

Without further ado…let’s roll.

1. I like how I parent.

2. I like how I partner.

3. I like how I coach.

4. I like how I sister.

5. I like how I daughter (and even how I bonus-daughter and how I daughter-in-law).

6. I like how I friend.

7. I finally like my eyebrows, my hair and my ankles.

8. I like my style…in most, if not, all ways.

9. I like the business I have created.

10. I like the team I have gathered.

11. I like my self-care regimens…mostly.

12. I like that every morning, I can find 108 things to be grateful for before I get out of bed...even on the roughest of mornings.

13. I like the communities of care and friend groups I have gathered.

14. I like how I grieve. I don’t like all the practice I’ve had, but I like how I grieve.

15. I like how I receive.

16. I like that I know I am a Star Maker.

17. I like that I smell possibility in others like a bloodhound. And then I hold it lightly for them to see too…if they so desire.

18. I like that I get results.

19. I like that I only work with folks who are in pure integrity and refuse to work with folks who are not.

20. I like how I do not abandon myself any longer for the fleeting admiration of another.

21. I like that I am surrounded by honest folks who love me enough to offer conscious critique, and hold me accountable.

22. I like that I have started to treat my energy as the precious resource that it is, and attend to it with reverence.

23. I like who I am and I still like who I am becoming.

24. I like that I have some grace about always being in a state of transition and that I no longer try to white knuckle certainty.

25. I like knowing that to be ICONIC, you will (I will) face the Imposter Complex twice.

26. I like my body of work.

27. I like my body.

28. I like that I can feel the visceral response to writing #27 and know that body shame is deep and requires care, and still, I know the truth of #27 and all the work that went into having it be so. 

29. I like that I am developing a new appreciation for rest that will serve me well for the balance of my life.

30. I like that I no longer need to spend time with people who choose to be exclusively negative. 

31. I like my 50 stack practice…a way to connect to the truth that sits on the other side of most of the disempowering beliefs that I no longer buy into.

32. I like that I no longer try to convince people to “do better” and that I can see the extraordinary and inherent arrogance that I was holding. 

33. I like that I no longer pretend to be okay when I’m not. I gift myself grace and space to want, ask for, and receive emotional support…and more if what I’m given is not sufficient.

34. I like that "I need time to process how I feel" is perfectly reasonable, and often, THE most appropriate way to respond.⁠ I've spent far too much time in my life enabling others to feel okay about their less-than-stellar behaviour. ⁠(And that's precisely what we're doing when we rush past our feelings and into the resolution.⁠)

35. ⁠I like that I don't do that any more.⁠

36. ⁠I like that I am okay with recognizing that I am not for everyone. 

37. I like that I can take that even further to say: not only am I not for everyone, but I like that I have become somewhat ambivalent about being liked. (Whew.)

38. I like my energy and recognize that others do too..and some will seek to bleed me of it, so it’s a precious resource I need to tend to (cf: #22), especially if I want to keep liking my energy.

39. (Clearly, I also like spirals.)

40. I like that I generally make excellent decisions borne out of BOTH due diligence and intuition.

41. I like that I am serious when I tell my clients that I’m not attached to being right about something, which means I am equally serious when I assert that I am right about something.

42. I like that I’m also super fine with being wrong…and work hard on making reparations when required.

43. I like that I am still working on divesting from praise and criticism. Still.

44. I like that I no longer force staying in relationships, spaces and places that have faded out of alignment for me.

45. I like that I live inside my friend Staci’s invitation to, “make beautiful new memories so your best days aren’t always in the distant past.”

46. I like that I saw a loooooooong time ago that perfectionism was a hungry ghost I could not/would not ever satiate.

47. I like that I know that I know more than I think and I’ll never know it all.

48. I like that I know that the version of me someone else feels that they require me to be is not one bit of my responsibility.

49. I like that I am unapologetic about finding and fostering joy.

50. I like telling people that I AM Tanya Geisler. Because I know who I am and I know what I uphold and I know where I’m going.

Yeah. That’s a lot to like about being 50.

With so much more to come. I’ll swing back around and add to this list when I turn 75.

Thank you for being here…because I sure like YOU very much. Your presence, your attention, and your care are gifts that mean the world to me.

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Click here for my free training:

Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.

“You can’t spell ICONIC without IC…(dramatic pause)...twice” is one of my favourite bits of wordplay to drop in my teachings. Meaning, that the moment you decide that you are here to be ICONIC, the Imposter Complex is gonna come for you. 

Can you see that?

Overwhelm
People-pleasing
Diminishment
Comparison
Procrastination
Perfectionism
Leaky Boundaries

...and tries to keep you out of action, doubting your capacity, and alone and isolated.

And yet somehow, if you manage to push through and step in with your ICONIC self, you’re STILL not done with it because it sits at the end of the word, too, as you consider your next phase and stage.

Who do you think you are to move onto the next level?
You just got here because you got lucky, and now you want to jinx that by wanting MORE?
You’re greedy and selfish. It’s not safe. Stay where you are.

It’s exhausting. It really is. Trust me.

And while I would LOVE to say my work eradicates the IC, it doesn’t. Because as long as you are here to do your world-changing ICONIC work, the Imposter Complex WILL try to come for you. Coming and going.

But what my work DOES is help smooth out the curves. Helps with a faster recovery. Lets you know what exactly is going on so you can make better, more aligned decisions that have you in the driver’s seat, the director’s chair, or in the spotlight. Whatever you choose. And wherever you are supposed to be.

With action. With confidence. And with community.

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Click here for my free training:

Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.

Dearest Lauren - 

The first time I sensed a craving to meet your magnificent self, I was 25. Your father and I had been dating since my first year of university and were on the other side of the wobbliness of early love and immaturity and I could already feel you with us. Clear as day. And your name was always Lauren.

I had a whispered sense that you were to have a sibling, but could never see them the way I could see you. Thick and wavy-haired and a sparkler of a human. Compassionate, wise and hilarious.

It took you a while to grow into the hair and the humour I had pre-seen…but when you did, my Lord, did you ever. Like everything you do, you do with gusto.

The first time I experienced the tension between marvelling in your evolution and wanting things to stay exactly as they are was the first time I cried when putting on your “watch me grow”-emblazoned onesie–a gift from your grandmother. It was adorable and precious, and yet it bit at my heart.

The first time I experienced the sense of my heart being outside of me was your first day of Kindergarten. I came home and tumbled tearfully into the loving arms of the mother figure that was our neighbour Lynne. 

And in each of those moments I’ve named, I imagined this day. “The heart-ripping day L leaves”, as the file that I started for this letter was called. I didn’t know if it would be heading into your dorm room like we’re doing today, or if you’d be moving into your first apartment, or into a friend’s place, or on a year-long solo adventure. I didn’t know the shapes, the details, the names and the places, but I knew it was coming. The slowest moving train that’s been steadily approaching for 18 years has finally arrived at the station. 

Ready to take you on an extraordinary journey filled with the wonder and excitement of new quests, sights, and people. 

The joy and pride and excitement and gratitude we feel on your behalf is immeasurable. 

And also? The grief.

Listen. You KNOW I tried in vain to get ahead of the grief, but it came just the same. Because it’s like Staci said yesterday morning over our weekly coffee date: The moment you entered into our lives, you became the centre of our universe.

And as many well-intending friends keep reminding me, you’ll only be ten subway stops away. TEN. But you’re not going to be in this house every day like you have been for the past 18 years, and for that, I am straight up sad. For ME.

I will miss more than I can name. The idle chats and big opinions as we snuggle in to watch Glow Up or some other show your dad can’t be bothered with, your warm hand resting on my forearm where it’s rested since you were five. The little erasers here and the friendship bracelets there that hearken back to the days of your teeny tiny toys strewn about the house. The heart-to-hearts on the drives to school, and later, work. The twice yearly dental visits and follow-up drugstore run for chips (not sweets) as was our tradition. The casual “love you” tossed over your shoulder as you passed my office on your way out the door. The impromptu kitchen dance parties. The non-sequiturs. The way you’ve never been too old for the ice cream truck. The morning ‘fit check. The tickle on my nose from your aforementioned glorious hair when we hug. The lightness of your extraordinary energy that just makes every room you enter…better.

In French, “I miss you” is “tu me manques”.

Literally, “you are missing of me”.

It’s like that.

It’s very much and precisely and exactly like that.

You are missing of me.

But while I will miss your daily presence, I will never ever miss our love and connection. Because nothing about that will change.

This is YOUR time, Lauren Denise. 

Your time for you to expand your mind and grow into the greatness of your potential. Your time to trust into yourself and your good decisions and your fathoms-deep heart. Your time to decide what you wish to take of us, and what to leave behind. Time for you to grow even beyond us.

We will be here cheering you on. Joyful that the world gets even more of you, magnificent you. Cracked open by the most astonishingly immense love that continues to take my breath away. Unendingly grateful you chose us to be your parents. 

…the gift of a lifetime and the easiest gig ever.

Mama

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Click here for my free training:

Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.

I’ll never forget the way she said it.

I asked her why she was getting on a plane to attend a book signing of someone she admired, but wasn’t necessarily a devotee of her work/writing.

She said, “I’d go anywhere to see a woman celebrate herself.”

I remember thinking that I’d love to be that person. The person who would go anywhere to witness someone’s joy come to life. Joy that they had made happen.

And later that year, I realized I found myself BEING that person and saying these words from the stage.

“We are all witness today to a woman’s dream coming true. That’s something I would travel across the world to see any day.”

It wasn’t across the world, but it was across the border. 

And it happened again a couple of weeks ago.

I was mid-program launch, and my calendar was uncomfortably stuffed, so I had declined an invitation to one of my beloved client’s anniversary party in NYC. It just didn’t seem viable, and I put it out of my mind, though my heart kept pulling at me.

I kept hearing the refrain, “When was the last time you saw someone who looked like they had swallowed the moon?”

You see, many years ago, I came across this quote in an exquisite and well-circulated article about the collective grief around Prince's death. And why time seemed to stand still. Caroline McHugh spoke these haunting words:

“[There] are individuals who managed to figure out the unique gift that the universe gave them when they incarnated, and they put that in the service of their goals…

And when we see these people, we invariably call them larger than life. Life is large, but most of us don’t take up nearly the space the universe intended for us. We take up this wee space ‘round our toes, which is why when you see somebody in the full flow of their humanity, it’s remarkable. They’re at least a foot bigger in every direction than normal human beings, and they shine, they gleam, they glow. It’s like they swallowed the moon.”

Yes. It IS like that. It most certainly is.

At first, when I heard that refrain, I didn’t rise to the invitation. Because the truth is, it’s something I see over Zoom almost weekly, behind the closed doors of my group sessions and individual client calls. And when I see it, I name it. I do this so that everyone else on the call can acknowledge the moment and bask in the glowing splendour. Just as you would a shooting star. It’s something to behold when you get to witness it for yourself, but to get to witness it with others? Well. There’s something practically holy about that.

But it’s been some time since I’d seen it in person. Close enough to feel the glow on my cheeks. 

And I’m not telling tales out of school, but THIS particular sunbeam of a client struggles some with celebration, so the fact that she even ALLOWED this anniversary shindig to happen? Whew.

So, I grabbed my man, headed off for the swiftest 22 hours in NYC ever, donned some shoes that hadn’t seen the light of day in over two years, stepped into a shine-reflecting sequins jumpsuit, and showed up to bask.

Not across the world, mind you, but across the threshold of my capacity.

Because there she was, in the fullness of her brilliance.

Shining, gleaming, glowing.

Seemingly larger than life, and surrounded by the best-in-class folks she had gathered in her now-robust five year old community. And I could talk about HOW she had gathered them…with clear vision and leadership and integrity and the strongest heart ever. The very things I had seen expand within her over the years of our closed door Zoom calls.

But I wasn’t there for the HOW. I was there for the gleam.

I was there for the declarative celebration in every passed hors d’oeuvres that signaled: 

“Pause and savour this moment with me, will you?” 

And she was, and it was glorious.

You know by now that the Imposter Complex and its relentless requirement for perfection and certainty tries to keep us from celebrating our accomplishments, because what has been done is “not enough.” Or it could have been done better, faster, or more…something.

And so many of us have been conditioned to believe that celebrating our own accomplishments is far too much. Far too audacious.

And who are you to be larger than life, anyways?

Listen, I won’t lie.

Taking up the space the universe has carved out for you is not for the faint of heart. It takes tenacity and resilience and a reverence for ourselves that transcends the wee space around our toes. It takes boundaries and a willingness to rewrite the stories that were originally written to limit you and others like you. It takes support and a clarity of vision and a relentless fidelity to the promises you have made…to yourself as much as to others. It takes discernment and care and a trust in your ability to wield power in generative ways, even if you haven’t seen it modeled well before. It takes audacity. 

And it’s not for all of us.

But it is for some of us. (And if you suspect it might be for you, we should talk.)

So when you look like you’ve swallowed the moon? Your job IS to shine and gleam and glow, so that we can be reminded of all that is possible within us too.

As it turns out, I’ll go anywhere to see that in person.

And I just may be there with shine-reflecting sequins on.

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Click here for my free training:

Five ICONIC shifts leaders use to overcome Imposter Complex.