Humility is an odd virtue. One is told to work on becoming greater at humility, and yet the purpose of humility is to remove oneself from pride's influence. You can't someone that they are humble and expect them to agree.
Humility is internal.
Otherwise it's some sort of a lie.
It's super common for us to act like we are being humble. One of the priests at ND gave a few examples at Mass on Sunday: saying that we just threw our outfit on, that we are not really all that smart, that we were just "helping the community."
We all hate it when people fish for compliments.
And yet we all do it.
Myself included
Someone told me once that graduate school was where you went to learn that you knew absolutely nothing.
Of course that makes sense when it comes to being in the lab. Undergrads are not supposed to know how to use expensive equipment, nor were they expected to understand how research really worked. Since I went straight from undergrad, I was expecting to be completely confused in the lab.
I knew that people expected me to fail, so I let that become my persona. My small victories were hidden under my "Experiment Fail" tally hanging by my desk. When I messed up, I made sure everyone knew about it. And then when I did something right, when I got an image or had good yield, everyone acted happy for me.
But they were much happier for the people who were not announcing their every result.
It was like fishing for compliments, just in a different context.
Now I am not saying that we should all act like we have our lives together and know everything. We should not discredit our success, but we certainly should not flaunt what little skill or talent we have. Just like humility, pride can also be a sort of a lie.
The people in the graduate school describe this as "Imposter Syndrome." We think that in the sea of people around us that we are the only one lost, confused, or hurt.
So we pretend to have it all together
We act like we are smart, like we are the top of the class, like what we think we are supposed to be.
I learned what it felt like to lose my mask the hard way.
Coming from an undergraduate institution without research, my strongest scientific ability was to read papers and answer well in the classroom. Back at Belmont, I was known for reading journal articles for fun. I was known to be the kid to answer the questions. I was known for being the book worm who probably studied too hard for her exams, even though she enjoyed it.
So I walked in to my graduate level Cell Biology Class with the mentality that I would run the room again. I assumed that I had read more than my first year cohort, and I assumed that the Notre Dame kids were just like my graduating class at Belmont.
I don't know if y'all are aware of this, but...
Notre Dame kids are super smart.
My advisor was the first to present, so I figured that I would be ok. However, as soon as he asked the first question, a senior raised her hand and said a sentence I only understood two words from: "the" and "a."
Shocked by my inability to not only answer my advisor's question, but also my inability to understand my peer's answer, I slumped a little in my seat. And as more questions went by, and more eloquent answers came from behind me, I realized just how smart everyone was. Instead of believing in my own ability, I focused on the talent surrounding me instead.
My pride did not let me see how blessed I was to be with people who challenged me.
I never felt so out of place.
I went back to my lab, and my eyes were burning. It wasn't sorrow that I felt, but rather sheer embarrassment. I did not read as well as I could have. I did not try as hard as I should have. I had convinced myself that I was better than these extremely talented students, and I lost myself in the process.
Had I just been a little more humble, I could have taken the time to read and actually speak in class.
Had I just been a little more confident in my God-given talents, I could have selected the proper data points to speak on in class.
But I chose pride.
I chose to be an idiot in the lab and arrogant in the classroom.
After I reorganized my bench, I cleaned out my old experiments, only letting my successful works be seen. I threw out my experiment tally and wrote a positive note on my wall. I created a research plan, and I bought a notebook to take more extensive notes in.
I think that the act of recognizing where our humility and pride lie is one of the hardest parts of growing up. We want to be capable, but we also can't assume that we are the only one with the ability to do what we love. We want to be independent, but life does not exist in a vacuum.
The truth is that we do not have to prove ourselves to anyone but ourself.
My second week of classes starts tomorrow, and I will have the opportunity to prove myself to myself.
It doesn't matter what everyone else thinks about you.
If you are struggling with imposter syndrome, or if you can see eyes rolling when you talk about your shortcomings, try to make a change. Try to see life in a new light.
All that matters is that you work hard, learn what you need to learn, and become the person God made you to be. If that is the leader of the group, awesome. If that is the average kid in the back who will eventually make it in another field, great. If that is the kid who is struggling that inspires someone else to learn to teach, wonderful.
Whatever you do, do it for yourself, do it for God, but do not do it for your peers/superiors/strangers.
Believe you are capable
Believe that you can fail
Believe that whatever you do will be successful if you humbly take the time to succeed.
And Dear Reader...
I believe in You.
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