I feel like a fraud all the time. I worry what other therapists would think of me as a therapist because of how bad my mental health can be. Seriously, therapists are some of the most judgmental people I have ever met in any profession I have ever been a part of. I never thought it would be that way.
This caught me off-guard at first. For some reason, I assumed that people who work in this field would be, if not more "put together", at least more self-aware and honest about their own limitations. I have met some who are, and they have been very inspirational and great to deal with, but a whole bunch of them are blinded by hubris, judgmental, and incredibly self-absorbed.
A while ago, I read Janet Malcolm's
Psychoanalysis: The Impossible Profession, and an exchange between the author and the analyst she was talking to, about the politicking and backstabbing in institutional psychoanalytic circles, made me laugh. It's a good read, even if you're not in our little corner of the profession.
When I expressed some of my surprise to Aaron that analysts, who are supposed to be wiser and more reflective than the rest of us, conduct their organizational life in such a demented manner, he shook his head in vigorous disagreement.
"Analysts aren't wiser and more reflective than other people," he said. "They're no different from other people."
"But they've been analyzed. Doesn't that give a person some edge, a little extra power over his emotions and impulses?"
"Very little," Aaron said. "And such small edge as analysts have they exercise in only one situation in life—namely, the analytic situation. In that most unnatural, highly artificial, stressful situation, the analyst's small advantage of self-knowledge and self-control comes into play. But when you take him out of his consultation room, his advantage recedes and he becomes just like everyone else—he begins to act just like other people."
If you think about it, it makes perfect sense. Our training applies to a very specific function we perform—being a therapist, in a therapeutic relationship, with a patient. Someone who is naturally more introspective will probably take on some of the things they learn in training, and at least try to keep them in mind as they pertain their personal life. But even that doesn't mean they can somehow overcome or work around the pitfalls of human existence. Our mental health is affected by internal and external factors, just like everyone else's. We're not immune to any of it. At best, we have a bit of additional insight into how these things work, generally, and so we can try to address them in a way that isn't detrimental to our lives, relationships, and work. It doesn't exempt us from anything.
The "fix your shit before you get out there" thing is, I feel, not as cut-and-dry as it may appear, or even as it may be presented in some training programmes. At least in psychoanalytic training, the point is that we ought to know what it is like to be a patient in analysis, doing the work, before we can expect to be on the role of analyst for someone else. You can't know what your patient is going through and doing, if you haven't gone through your own analysis first. But there is no expectation that you'll be "done", "fixed", or "cured" before you start working with others. Psychoanalysis acknowledges the realities of the human condition, and so imposing such a requirement on budding analysts would have condemned the profession to extinction from the beginning.
To your particular concern—feeling like an imposter, and worrying about how other therapists might perceive you—I would say two things. First, that feeling of being an imposter is probably more of a character trait than an actual reflection of your competency as a therapist. I don't know how experienced you are, but I have met analysts with decades-long careers who will openly tell you that, every session, they continue to feel underprepared and wonder whether they are capable of actually doing what they do. In a sense, that is a good sign—you don't go into a session feeling like you're ready for anything, and you have all the answers, and that is good, because that is the reality of this line of work. There are no certainties, because every person you work with is an individual, and every time they come to see you, they bring a new and (to you) unknown life experience. Let that feeling be an asset, instead of an obstacle or a source of worry. Do the best work you can do, keep learning and preparing, and just do the work.
The second thing is that, in the end, what other therapists think of you is not particularly important. It might be useful to be well-liked in the sense that you might get more referrals from colleagues, or be invited to participate in professional events or join associations and groups. But the core of your work—that is, the work you do with your patients every day—is unaffected by the opinion other therapists have of you. The one and only thing that matters is whether the work you do is beneficial to your patients. Of course, you won't be able to help everyone who comes into your office, that's part of the profession. But those patients who come to you, and keep coming back week after week, no matter if your modality is focused on 12-session treatments or long-term therapy, are they benefiting from the work you do together? If so, whatever your colleagues think of you as a therapist is of little significance.