Personally, I avoid social media.
It doesn’t take much to start imagining I’d be worth more if I made videos like the ones I see, or if I were more present online.
This can genuinely be a bottomless pit.
It’s impostor syndrome.
The kind that raises persistent doubts about our own abilities. That insists on making us feel we don’t deserve our success, even when objective evidence exists: students, results as therapists, years of experience.
But there’s more:
Attributing success to luck.
Constant comparison.
Procrastination or over-preparation.
Difficulty accepting compliments.
The list can be long and painful, especially if something resonates as we work our way through it.
But the worst part isn’t the doubt.
It’s the paralysis it causes. And the value that isn’t being delivered to the world.
For years, I looked for the solution.
More training. More techniques. More resources.
Some ended up in the graveyard of bookshelves. Others buried in hard drives, clouds, or the equivalent.
The solution was never there.
It’s part of the process, yes. But not the solution in itself.
What changed was asking a different question.
Not “what am I missing?”
But “why do I teach?”
Why do you teach?
What’s your story? How does it shape your practice? How does that story inform the decisions you’ll make — buying a new course, choosing a space to teach, choosing a nourishing collaboration?
What is the root?
Because only when that question is clear can we understand that we are unique. That no one else teaches the way we do.
And since impostor syndrome lives on comparison, this begins to change the internal conversation.
Over the past three months, I’ve been sharing this question with Portuguese instructors.
Producing podcasts. Running masterclasses twice a month.
And I’ll be sincere with you: it’s fascinating.
Being able to share and to listen to others share. The challenges. Observing subtle shifts that inform the whole ecosystem of teaching Therapeutic Chi Kung.
I don’t promise that the question “why do I teach?” resolves impostor syndrome.
But I observe that when we clarify the root, comparison loses its grip.
When we understand our own story, we begin to teach from it. Not from someone else’s.
And that is profoundly empowering.
Live the practice. Teach the practice.
Lourenço