When your brain convinces you you're failing as a teacher ...

Our most confident moments come when we're in familiar territory.

The uncertain ones are when we're growing, adapting, reaching new students in new ways.

I've talked about imposter syndrome as a teacher on the podcast previously.

And recently, I was chatting with my former colleague at BrainPOP, Andrew Gardner, about how imposter syndrome shows up now.

Andrew has a unique perspective on imposter syndrome, because his worries about not being good enough are deeply intertwined with his ADHD and depression.

He didn't receive his ADHD diagnosis until age 30. After years of struggling and wondering what was wrong with him, his first thought after learning the diagnosis was: "Okay, now what? I'm still an idiot."

Because here's the thing: a diagnosis is an explanation, but it's not a magic fix for that voice in your head that's been telling you you're failing at basic stuff for decades.

Andrew spent his twenties as a teacher working 80-90 hour weeks, unable to take a single compliment, constantly white-knuckling through administrative tasks that seemed easy for everyone else. He was treated for depression. He thought he was just bad at being an adult.

The ADHD diagnosis helped him understand why certain things were so hard. But that critical voice? It didn't just disappear.

What did help was something he calls "getting on the balcony."

It's this idea from adaptive leadership work where you step back from the dance floor (where you're just reacting and doing and taking action) and get up to the balcony to observe what's actually happening.

From the balcony, you can see patterns. You can generate multiple interpretations of what's going on instead of just leaping to the first one.

Here's what that looks: A situation pops up that makes you feel like you're not doing a good enough job. Maybe you're not able to prevent a child's meltdown, or follow through on your to-do list, or you've forgotten something important and are really hard on yourself about it.

When you're on the dance floor, you just immediately react. You leap to action based on your first interpretation, which is usually the loudest voice in your head.

But if you can get to the balcony, you pause first. You come up with at least three different interpretations before you decide what to do:

"Oh, that could be my my ADHD making it hard to activate on this boring task."

"That's my inner critic being a jerk."

"That voice critiquing every mistake served me once, but it's not serving me now."

You don't have to pick one interpretation. You hold all of them. You look at which one might be most true, or most useful. And that space between observation and action? That's where the growth happens.

Andrew said the goal isn't to get stuck on the balcony, paralyzed by interpretation. It's to take a beat, consider a few possibilities, then take action. See what happens, and use that data to inform your next trip to the balcony.

He also said something that really landed for me: "I'm never going to find a silver bullet. I'm unfinished. I'm going to be a constant work in progress."

And instead of that being depressing, it's actually kind of freeing. Because if you're always going to be a work in progress, you can stop beating yourself up for not being fixed yet.

We talked about all this and more in this week's episode: the invisible struggles of teaching with ADHD and depression, why that negative voice gets so loud, and how to start reframing neurodivergence as a strength.

If you want to hear the whole conversation, it's called "Everything all at once: what it's like to be a teacher with ADHD."

Read or listen to the conversation

But even if you don't listen, maybe try getting on the balcony this week. See what you notice.

Angela