And before you ask, no, this doesn’t mean I don’t actually have epilepsy. Due the extent of my knowledge, all of the stories I’ve been telling are true. My first seizure was in 1991, I was diagnosed with epilepsy in 2000, and I had a doohickey named Sparky implanted in my noggin three weeks ago.
Imposter syndrome in this particular case is because of NEAM Days 1-10 and beyond. Because of 39 blog posts and counting. Because of a handful of videos posted on YouTube. And why?
Where did I get the nerve to think that what I have to write matters? That it’ll have any impact on anyone at all? Am I wasting your time and my time and anyone else’s time who stumbles upon something I’ve written or recorded? What gives me the right to get up on a soapbox and start preaching to people about epilepsy and how they should be more aware about it?
This isn’t the first time I’ve had this feeling of “Who do you think you are?” and I doubt it’ll be the last. Although generally not in the second person—I usually stick to first or third person… because that’s how Shawn rolls.
And then I thought about work this afternoon and the conference call that our department had using Zoom. Louie is one of our dogs and he likes sitting in our laps. He even likes sitting in my lap when I’m at my desk during a conference call, so I’ll usually hold him up a little higher so he’s on-screen with me, sometimes wave his paw at the camera, that sort of thing. (When people ask, I sometimes refer to Louie as my coworker. Someone once suggested that he’s the one doing all the work here… “Well, my name is on all the tax forms.”)
I use the webcam at the top of my laptop screen and it was angled up higher than usual, so Louie’s head was usually covered up by my name at the bottom of my screen. I guess I was moving him around enough that people could see his head pop up sometimes because someone left a comment in the chat about seeing Louie and seriously considering getting herself an emotional support animal. When the call was over, someone wrote to me on Zoom asking what Louie’s name was (the name at the bottom of the screen was just mine, not “Shawn & Louie”), then said it was really cute and she thought it was kinda cool that I’d hold him up so people can see him. I don’t remember exactly what I wrote back, but it was something to the extent of “If it can put a smile on one or two faces during the call, then it’s worth it.”
And there’s my answer. That’s right, I need to start asking for Louie’s help writing all of these blog posts! Wait… no, that wasn’t it. I mean, I’ll be the first to admit that some of the things I write are in no way smile-inducing. That said, if one or two people appreciate something that I’ve written or recorded—regardless of whether they leave a like or a comment or whatever—then it’s worth the effort. Maybe I’m not an expert. Maybe I’m not an authority figure. Maybe I’m just a plain ol’ dude. But I’m a plain ol’ dude who’s providing information and content that probably wouldn’t exist otherwise. And if its existence is useful or helpful or even possibly puts a smile on someone’s face, I think Louie would agree that it’s a good thing and I should keep doing it. Because that’s how Shawn rolls.