I wish someone would give me permission not care about work. To do a crappy job. To not follow through. To not worry about the aftermath of bad decisions. You know, like everyone else. Every morning when I realize it’s time to get in the shower, to start the morning routine that eventually ends with me walking through the doors of frustration and exhaustion, I feel like I am putting on someone else’s life. And it doesn’t fit very well. In fact it’s tight and restricting, a size too small. How do I get out of this place? How do I find my life, my home? Where is it? The only thing I know for sure is it’s not here.
Imposter
