Discussion of news topics with a point of view, including narratives by individuals regarding their own experiences

Impostor syndrome seems to me to be a common affliction among successful women. Even the thought of calling myself a “successful woman” makes me bristle and feel like I’ve put some kind of jinx on myself.

Although I can see, objectively, that I’ve accomplished a lot and that I’ve worked really hard to get to where I am, my stupid, fragile sense of self-esteem will not allow me to accept that. I fear that allowing myself to experience a sense of pride or accomplishment will make it all go away. I’m convinced that every job I do will be my last and soon, I’ll be found out for the talent-less fraud that I really am.

I stumbled upon Facebook’s mortality settings — and realized I had an important decision to make

I was confronted with the mortality of my body and the immortality of the self I leave on social media

A chronic illness upended my life. I’m still trying to find a new normal.

Should I talk about my diagnosis on a first date? Tell my friends if I’m feeling particularly awful?