A friend Instagrammed her journal, mentioning how much she hated writing in it but how much her therapist insisted she do it. 

We had a very big win at work today. But everytime I try to think about it, I put my head down and cry. My organization is good and does good things. But I don't. My last personal project to bear fruit was two years ago and since then, my projects have floundered.

It's the nature of the work and the nature of the field, but I find myself unable to start over with the next thing. I'm making small--if sometimes meaningful--contributions, doing routine and necessary--but not compelling--tasks. Wanting the important and interesting projects to gain traction, but certain I'm incapable of them--regardless of whether I was before.

There's a lot of thinking I need to do here but that's more than I have in me.

I love you.
Also, if you are contributing to the good things your work is doing, you are still doing good things. You have the ambition to do more good things, and to make some under your own banner, not as someone else's vassal - and you do, and you will ... but being part of a group effort is still effort, and helping make a good thing go is good.

I wonder how much imposter syndrome is just women, internalizing cultural misogyny. We're not mediocre white men; we must be imposters.

I am still cranky and tired but today I'm more disatisfied with small, personal things than with large systemic cruel and hateful failures. I suppose I have only so much capacity for the latter but since joy is impossible, I shift to the former.

I'm also being very ineffective at work. Which may be why my first thought in the morning is about imposter syndrome.

7/28 '20