The Moment I Feel Like an Imposter.

People often ask me if I struggle with imposter syndrome.

The answer is yes.

But probably not in the way they expect.

I’ve never been someone who waited until I felt ready before doing something.

If anything, I’ve always had a habit of saying yes before I knew exactly how I was going to pull it off.

Move across the world. Apply for the role. Pitch the idea. Send the email. Sign the lease. Trust that I’ll figure the rest out.

That part has never frightened me.

The fear comes later.

It’s always the same moment.

The meeting starts. I look around the room. Everyone seems older. More experienced. They’ve been doing this longer. They know the language, the politics, the unwritten rules.

Then, almost on cue, the thought arrives.

Who the fuck are you to be here?

For years I assumed that was imposter syndrome.

Now I’m not so sure.

Because I’ve noticed something interesting.

That voice never appears before the opportunity. It appears after. Not while I’m chasing the thing. Only once I’ve caught it.

Which made me wonder...

If I genuinely believed I didn’t belong, why did I have the confidence to pursue the opportunity in the first place?

Maybe the problem wasn’t confidence.

Maybe I was asking the wrong question.

Whenever that voice appeared, I’d instinctively start comparing myself to everyone else in the room. Their experience. Their qualifications. Their technical knowledge. Their years in the industry.

I was trying to answer one question:

Do I measure up?

Of course the answer was usually no.

There were people in those rooms who had been doing the job longer than I’d even known it existed.

Then one day I asked a different question.

Not: “Am I qualified enough?”

But: “Why did they invite me?”

Literally. Why me?

If there are people in this room with twenty years more experience than I have... why am I here?

The answer was never: “Because you secretly have twenty years of experience too.”

The answer was much simpler.

Because I wasn’t there to compete on experience. Nobody had invited me to become another version of them. They had invited me because I wasn’t.

That realization changed everything.

When I became an Art Director, I wasn’t the strongest illustrator in the room. Many of the artists I worked with had spent decades honing their craft. They knew things I didn’t. They still do.

But nobody hired me to outdraw them. They hired me to see the bigger picture. To define a visual direction. To connect ideas. To spot patterns. To make decisions. To translate an abstract feeling into something an entire team could build together.

Different job. Different value.

When I signed my publishing deal, I wasn’t the most experienced writer. I’d never published a book. There are authors whose understanding of craft far exceeds my own.

The publisher didn’t choose me despite that. They chose me because of the way I think. The ideas I’m obsessed with. The questions I can’t stop asking. The lens through which I see the world.

Experience wasn’t my qualification. Perspective was.

And I think that’s the trap.

The moment we feel like imposters, we start competing on someone else’s strengths. We abandon the very thing that made us valuable in the first place.

The young leader tries to sound like the veteran. The designer tries to become the engineer. The founder tries to become the accountant. The artist tries to become the strategist.

We slowly edit ourselves until we resemble the people we’re intimidated by. Then wonder why we feel like we’re pretending.

Maybe that’s what I’ve been experiencing all along.

Not imposter syndrome.

Perspective amnesia.

A temporary forgetting of what I was actually invited to contribute.

Because there will always be people with more experience than you. More qualifications. More knowledge. More years.

Experience is shared. Perspective isn’t.

Nobody else has lived your exact life. Nobody else has your combination of failures, obsessions, interests, instincts, questions and contradictions. Nobody else has your way of connecting dots that, to everyone else, seem unrelated.

That’s not motivational fluff. That’s mathematics.

Your perspective is statistically unrepeatable.

And yet it’s usually the first thing we abandon when we feel intimidated.

Now, whenever that familiar voice shows up — Who are you to be here? — I answer it with another question.

What am I here to contribute that nobody else can?

The answer is almost never: “My experience.”

It’s usually something far more specific. A different perspective. A better question. A creative connection. A fresh way of seeing the problem. The courage to challenge the obvious. The ability to make complexity feel simple.

Whatever it is, that’s my lane.

And I’ve learnt that the fastest way to feel like an imposter is to leave it.

Maybe confidence isn’t believing you’re the most qualified person in the room.

Maybe confidence is trusting that your value was never supposed to look like everyone else’s.

The room already has their experience. It doesn’t have your perspective.

Ditch the imposter.

Think about the last opportunity that made you feel like an imposter.

A promotion. A client. A presentation. A relationship. A conversation where you felt out of your depth.

Now ask yourself a different question.

Why was I actually invited into that room?

Not why you think you should have been. Why did they choose you?

Write down at least ten answers.

There’s one catch. You’re not allowed to use words like: hardworking, passionate, experienced, qualified, reliable.

Instead, look for the things that are uniquely yours.

Maybe you ask better questions. Maybe you simplify complexity. Maybe you create calm in chaos. Maybe you connect ideas that nobody else notices. Maybe you make people feel seen. Maybe you’re brave enough to challenge the obvious.

Those aren’t personality traits. They’re contributions.

Then read your list back to yourself.

Because the next time imposter syndrome shows up, don’t ask whether you’re qualified to be in the room.

Ask whether you’ve forgotten what you were invited there to contribute.