All my adult life, in my heart of hearts, I believed I was a fraud.  Not good enough.  Not worthy.  Always afraid of being found out.  Always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Long before I ever heard of “Imposter Syndrome”, I suffered these paralysis-threatening pangs of self-doubt and crises of self-worth.  It’s nice to have a name for it now.

As I was lying in Shavasana the other night on my yoga mat, I was reflecting / basking / feeling incredibly grateful for the outpouring of love / kudos / affirmation I’ve received over the last few weeks as my retirement approached, and the impact it’s had on my soul. 

It made me think, for a brief second, that perhaps I wasn’t an imposter after all.

My team told me I was a great manager, my clients told me how much they appreciated my dedication to them and their pets, my vendors thanked me for being a good partner.  I’ve received 20+ lovely cards, each filled with healthy dollops of good feels. 

My vet clinic family threw an amazing surprise party for me.  And I’m not easy to surprise- it’s happened exactly twice in my life. Once when Mick proposed to me, in England, at a restaurant, on Christmas Eve, in front of his ENTIRE family (I know, right? Who does that?).

My retirement party was the second time.  I thought I was going to my boss’s house for a nice, quiet dinner. We arrived to find (almost) the whole NOAH Team.  Apparently, the fabulous lunch at the clinic the week before was just an appetizer/ ruse leading up to this, my real party at Chestnut Hill Farm.

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I was humbled. I was overwhelmed.  I was so very grateful. I was filled with love for this team that gives so much to each other and the furry charges in their care.  We laughed. We feasted.  Through the magic of Snap Chat, we became dudes and dudes looked like ladies.  We danced. We talked to chickens and cuddled cats. We cried.

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It all got me thinking about how meaningful it is to take a moment to praise, to recognize goodness, to celebrate success.  To support our Sistahs.  It costs us nothing, yet, we don’t do it nearly often enough.  I believe it’s an underutilized muscle that could be flexed way more.

I’ve been the recipient of both confidence-inspiring positive feedback and the soul-crushing, imposter-confirming wallop of negativity and criticism.  They are both powerful weapons of mass destruction.   I’ve experienced a toxic “Mean Girl” culture that sent me reeling to therapy for a tune-up.

And, I’ve been so fortunate to have important women in my life who have had an abiding influence on me, the women I drew strength from in the dark times.

The first and most obvious is my saucy minx of a mother, Veronica Farrell Clark Greaney, aka “The Architect of my Insanity”:  mother of 8, grandmother to 10, great-grandmother to 9, and at 97 years old, the only survivor now of her generation.  Only the good die young.

Living a life that’s straddled women-as-homemakers and women-as-breadwinners, Vee’s most often repeated messages to me were “Get a good education, don’t rely on any man to define you.  Be independent. You can do anything you put your mind to.”  Some of her OTHER messages were a little less helpful, but we’ll skip those for now as am focusing on the POSITIVE.

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The next were my sisters, Lisa and Laura.  Lisa’s lessons were of self-lessness, generosity and love.  Her penchant for sending the gushiest Hallmark cards she could find is legendary.  She died in my arms and spent her last breaths trying to comfort me.

Laura introduced me to Milton Nascimento and New York City.  She made me chocolate chip waffles for breakfast and taught me good friends are priceless.  She and her husband Lou showed me that marriage can be a partnership of equals.  She has been my rock and unerring moral compass– always encouraging me, but hard on me, too, when she saw I was going astray. She is, and always will be, my hero.

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And then there’s my Stanky Sistah’s – Chelle, Diana, Margaret, and PJ.  These be-otches are the reason I can’t run for public office, they have video.  We have been partners-in-crime since our teens and twenties and these smart, creative, HILARIOUS beauties are my tribe.  They’ve taught me the value of sisters we choose, and that art is soul food.

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In my professional life, I’ve worked with some outstanding women mentors – trailblazers who’ve carved their success out of this man’s world we live in. 

Linda MacKenzie taught me the power of positive feedback when, after my very first facilitation of a 2-day communication skills training class, she gave me 2 written pages chock-full of positive comments and only 1 “do-differently”.  I’m quite certain there were many more mistakes she could have pointed out to me, and the fact that she didn’t gave me the courage to hone my craft as a trainer and coach. 

Lisa Lisson, now the president of FedEx Canada, who’s story of resilience is an inspiration. 

Karen Holmes, a consummate professional who put the “fun” in sales funnels.

My bad-ass cousin, Dr. Barbara Roberts, who graduated from medical school in the 1960’s and became a cardiologist when doctoring was a boys-club.  Always a voice for women’s rights and now an author, publishing her memoire “The Doctor Broad” this year.

Dr. Sarah Machell, the best vet I have ever worked with, who taught me compassion is the biggest gift we can give any creature.  All the outstanding veterinarians at NOAH who have modeled dedication, patience and how to get through some pretty tough days with grace.

This list could be oh so much longer and in the interest of brevity, I’ll leave it there.  You intelligent, strong, funny women know who you are, and I SEE YOU.

I’ll close by making an appeal to the Sistahs out there: Cheer each other on rather than tear each other down.  Use those emotional muscles to support and encourage and affirm.  Just because someone looks confident on the outside doesn’t mean they feel that way on the inside.  Take it from me, the Original Imposter.