What does Schroedinger's cat have to do with babies?

Fresh on the heels of the older fathers studies that I wrote about last time, out came a smaller, seemingly quieter piece of news about reproduction - a study that indicated multiple miscarriages may be caused by a woman's body's inability to reject unviable embyros. It hasn't shown up on the NYTimes Motherlode blog, where all the hottest topics and reports make a visit these days, but I hope it slaps on its best party dress and sparkles and starts making the rounds, because I think it will cause a lot of tears for a lot of women and then perhaps a huge, forgiving sigh.

The researchers claim that their research showed that some women's uteruses (uteri? uteroes? whatever, you know what I mean but can't spell) aren't that good at distinguishing between a viable and unviable embryo, and just go implant the hell out of anything passing through. Including embryos that wouldn't have resulted in a successful pregnancy. So instead of a "why is my body broken and not providing a loving, nurturing space for these embryos" kind of situation, which I think can lead to extreme feelings of failure, really, it is just a "oh, my uterus is just a bit too accepting of all embryos, and what other women's uteruses (it is English, so just let's pretend I can pluralize that way, ok?) wouldn't have even given another glance at, mine just got all "oooh, let's take them all home, and raise them". Like some of the characters...well, all of the characters, on Sex and the City and bad choices with guys. Your miscarriages weren't because you failed to provide a healthy place for a baby to grow, those embryos wouldn't have become babies in anyone's uterus.

It isn't you. At least not in that way that I think many of us who had a miscarriage and we didn't know the cause were thinking. It isn't your fault, you're not broken. You're probably an overachiever in life, actually. More than a little over-enthusiastic, perhaps? Especially if you're willing to keep trying for pregnancies after the harrowing experience that is a miscarriage. Turns out, so is your uterus.

Well, who knows what effect this has on women, but for me, I found it to be a strongly emotional result. Sure, perhaps it meant that I'd been producing damaged eggs or something, but at least it wasn't the case that my body was rejecting the baby that my brain and heart had been hoping and wishing for.

And it comes at a good time for me because I think I was pregnant again. Just for a few weeks. I didn't actually have the chance to take a second pregnancy test to confirm what I was feeling or the results of the first one. And while we've been having such long discussions about whether or not we want another child, and kind of settled one the "only one" side of the tracks, I seemed to have become pregnant again, and now not.  Or maybe it was a false positive and I wasn't.

Who'd have thought that pregnancy and quantum mechanics seem so related? Not this guy. Turns out, I disagree, and I think women who have been possibly pregnant, know exactly what this is like. Quantum weirdness has nothing on us. In that time before you can test for pregnancy, but think you may be pregnant, if you are being harshly realistic, you know things can go either way. You can be both pregnant and not pregnant at the same time. Your thoughts switch between, "I am, and what will that be like" and "Nope, I'm not and this is all just hopeful", and until you do that measurement, the system doesn't collapse into just "yes" or just "no."

How did you manage to fool everyone into thinking you actually deserve your job?

Yes, I just posted something about 10 hours ago (believe you, me, my brain can tell it didn't get much sleep), but I'm trying to get motivated again to work from home for an hour and what I learned during the last few months of grad school was that writing leads to motivation, not the other way around.

And I'm preparing to do a workshop next week, on the culture of giving talks in academic physics and on the Impostor Syndrome. In my notebook, I have a bunch of keywords written down that look very cool, and they start with high stakes speaking, pass through asking questions and beliefs about intelligence and get all the way over to the Impostor Syndrome by the end. No problem. Apart from the actual content and method of delivery, my workshop is ready.

You think you've made it as far as you have in physics or astronomy (or a host of other careers) because of luck, chance and that those around you have made it there because they actually have what is required - intelligence. You just have to work extra hard so that whatever gatekeeper missed your sorry, lazy, dumb but on those previous tests of competence and right to be employed in science, never finds out he or she made a horrible mistake. You should have been kicked out (preferably while your ex-colleagues joked about your inability to do elliptical integrals in you sleep) long ago.

I know you think I'm mean for writing about you, personally, but actually these are the hallmarks of a person who has what is called Impostor Syndrome. Female grad students have it, but guess what, so do male grad students. And professors. And members of the National Academy of Sciences. Probably Nobel prize winners, too. Not every one of them, but there are people in each of these positions, who you think have it made and way better at this than you, that feel exactly like you do. At least that is what the research says. These feelings of inadequacy go all the way up the ladder. A person who feels this way is often worried that others will find out how "unfit" they really are. And it tends to influence behavior, by making the person try to hide their lack of knowledge - they don't ask questions for fear of being found lacking, they avoid challenging situations, etc.

I've felt this way before. When I was an astronomy graduate student. I had phenomenal undergraduate grades, and awards, and a pretty good physics GRE score. I had great letters of recommendation, and got into a lot of good programs. And I never raised my hand in class or in any kind of talk. Everyone remembered more than I did, knew more than I did, was better at math than I was. It was just a matter of time before I was found out.

The advice I've seen in most places on overcoming Impostor Syndrome focuses on being less critical of yourself, not saying "yes I accomplished that, but..." all the time. And I have to say, that advice didn't do much for me. It didn't help me rethink my role and competence from the inside out. It maybe made me more gracious about compliments, but it didn't make me feel much better. Knowing other people felt the same way, that made me feel better. Less alone. And then doing research on people's feelings about talking in academic settings made me feel much less alone. And after hundreds of hours of thinking and reading research, and going over and over my interview data, and talking with others, it made me look at the culture of academia and how it reinforces the Impostor Syndrome. I'll write about that in another post.

So here is my contribution to the debate - I don't think the goal should be to make people feel less like they got where they were by luck, and to aim to make them feel as smart (however that might happen!) as those they fear around them. I think it is time to highlight that everyone around us got where they were by luck. Sure you have to prepare, you have to work, etc. But you need the right mentor, the right opportunities and the ability to take advantage of them at the right time. I think that those of us with Impostor Syndrome are tapped into a very core characteristic of academic success - to a large extent, it is about luck and not about how smart you are. So yes, you're right, you got where you were by luck. Thing is, so did everyone else.