Imposter Syndrome: Why High Achievers Feel Like Frauds

You've been in the industry for fifteen years. You've led teams, delivered results, navigated difficult clients, and survived reorganisations that took out people far less capable than you. And yet, when the calendar invite arrives for the executive presentation — or the recruiter calls about a senior role you're more than qualified for — a familiar voice pipes up.

What if they find out you've been winging it all along?

I know that voice well. When I started out as a coach, I didn't just feel like an imposter — in some ways, I was one. I didn't have all the answers. I was figuring it out as I went, in the way that most people who are early in something genuinely are. So I did what you do: I worked harder, studied more, invested in my craft until I genuinely became expert in it. The imposter feeling faded. I felt solid.

And then it came back.

Not because I'd stopped being good at my job — but because I'd become distracted with starting a podcast and lost focus on what actually mattered: getting clear results for clients and giving them more value than they came for. The moment I reconnected with that, the feeling shifted again. What I learned from that cycle — imposter, hard work, expertise, drift, doubt, refocus — is that this isn't a problem you solve once. It's a loop. And knowing how to navigate the loop is the whole game.

Welcome to imposter syndrome. You're in excellent company.

What It Actually Is

The term was coined in 1978 by psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes, who noticed something striking: high-performing women consistently attributed their success to luck, timing, or the goodwill of others — anything except their own competence. Subsequent research found the phenomenon crosses gender, seniority level, and industry. Studies suggest that as many as 70% of people experience it at some point in their career.

At its root, imposter syndrome taps into two of the most primal human fears: that we're not good enough, and that if we're not good enough, we're not worthy of acceptance. It's not a quirk or a weakness. It's a manifestation of something deeply human.

Here's the cruel irony: the more competent you are, the more likely you are to suffer from it. People with limited skills often don't know enough to recognise what they don't know. Genuine experts, by contrast, are acutely aware of the gaps, the nuances, the things that could go wrong. That awareness — which is actually a sign of sophistication — gets misread by the brain as evidence of inadequacy.

The Gap Between Inside and Outside

On the outside, you look competent. On the inside, you feel like you're one mistake away from being found out. That disconnect is the defining experience of imposter syndrome — and it's important to understand that it doesn't mean you're incapable. It's a conflict between your internal story and your external reality.

Most people carry an inner monologue on repeat — a quiet but persistent voice that converts beliefs into facts. I don't have enough qualifications to go for that. I'm too much of a generalist. Someone is going to ask a question I can't answer. These thoughts feel like honest self-assessment. They're not. They're stories. And the difference matters enormously.

Why It Hits Hardest at Inflection Points

Imposter syndrome tends to flare at moments of transition: a new role, a promotion, a career change, a return to the job market after years in one organisation. For professionals in their late thirties, forties, and fifties, these moments often arrive with additional pressure that younger candidates don't face.

But here's the part most people miss: imposter syndrome doesn't show up because you're not good enough. It shows up because you're growing. You're stepping into bigger responsibilities, higher expectations, a new environment. Your identity simply hasn't caught up with your new reality yet. That gap can feel risky, so your brain fills it with a story — I'm not ready. I don't have enough experience. Someone better suited should be doing this. In the short term, that story feels protective. In the long term, it frustrates you and holds you back.

What It Is Not

It's worth being precise here, because imposter syndrome is often confused with two other things.

It is not humility. Genuine humility means having an accurate sense of your abilities, including both strengths and limitations. Imposter syndrome distorts that picture — it amplifies the limitations and edits out the strengths entirely.

It is also not a sign that you're actually out of your depth. If you were truly incompetent, you'd be far less worried about being found out. Research consistently shows that the least capable people in any domain are also the least likely to question their own competence — a phenomenon known as the Dunning-Kruger effect. Anxiety about your own adequacy is, paradoxically, one of the better signals that you're someone who takes quality seriously.

Why It Persists: The Role of Confirmation Bias

Once the story takes hold, the brain does something particularly unhelpful: it starts hunting for evidence to confirm it. Psychologists call this confirmation bias. Positive evidence gets deleted. Neutral information gets distorted. One or two weak moments get generalised into sweeping conclusions about your overall capability.

Think about how often something happens twice and suddenly becomes "always." A stumble in one presentation becomes I'm not a confident speaker. A project that didn't land perfectly becomes I'm not cut out for this level. The story grows, not because reality supports it, but because the brain has been tasked with finding proof — and it's very good at that job.

This is also why imposter syndrome is so resistant to simple reassurance. A quick review of your CV won't fix it, because the problem isn't a lack of facts. It's a narrative that has learned to work around the facts.

The Belief Behind the Feeling

At its core, imposter syndrome is a limiting belief — and like all limiting beliefs, it derives its power from being treated as fact rather than examined as an assumption.

The belief usually runs something like this: My results have been the product of circumstances, effort, or fortunate timing — not of ability. And since I can't guarantee those circumstances will repeat, I can't guarantee I'll succeed again.

Notice how neatly this belief protects itself. Good outcomes get attributed to external factors. Bad outcomes, or the mere possibility of them, get attributed to an internal flaw. The accounting is rigged from the start.

Challenging it requires the same rigour you'd apply to any other claim in a professional context. If a colleague came to you with this argument — "I've consistently delivered results for fifteen years, but I think it might all be luck" — you'd ask for evidence. You'd push back. That same standard of scrutiny deserves to be applied to the voice in your own head.

Practical Ways Forward

The goal isn't to eliminate self-doubt entirely — some degree of it keeps you honest, curious, and motivated to keep improving. The goal is to stop letting it make decisions on your behalf. Here's where to start.

Conduct a fact check. Write down your skills, achievements, and concrete results — not vague impressions, but specific outcomes. Revenue influenced, processes improved, teams developed, problems solved. Most people keep this information locked in their heads, where it's subject to constant editing by mood and anxiety. On paper, it becomes evidence. Review it before interviews, salary conversations, or any moment where the imposter voice tends to be loudest.

Log your wins. Keep a daily or weekly record of what went well, however small. This isn't positive thinking for its own sake — it's training your attention. Confidence is largely a function of what you consistently focus on. People who feel confident are not always more talented; they tend to focus more deliberately on progress rather than gaps.

Abandon perfectionism. Progress beats perfection, every time. Growing often feels like not knowing. That discomfort is a normal feature of moving into new territory, not evidence that you don't belong there.

Interrupt the inner critic. When the voice shows up, don't negotiate with it. Treat it like an unwelcome guest — acknowledge it briefly, then redirect. Don't let it run the room.

Replace the voice. Swap negative self-talk for something calmer and more accurate. Not false confidence, but the kind of measured, honest encouragement you'd offer a capable colleague who was being too hard on themselves.

Take one small action. Momentum follows action, not the other way around. Choose something achievable, in the right direction, and do it. The feeling of competence is rebuilt through evidence — and evidence comes from doing.

The Deeper Point

The professionals who navigate career transitions most effectively aren't necessarily the most technically skilled, nor the most naturally confident. They're the ones who have developed an accurate picture of the value they bring — and who can communicate that picture clearly, even when part of them wants to minimise it.

You don't need to walk into a room believing you're the most impressive person there. But you do need to walk in believing that what you have to offer is real, is earned, and is worth something to the right person or organisation.

Everyone has weaknesses. Some don't even need fixing. You get paid for your strengths — your highest-value contribution. The question worth asking isn't whether you're good enough in some abstract, universal sense. It's whether you can clearly see and articulate the genuine value you bring.

That belief won't arrive fully formed. It's built deliberately, through the same discipline you've applied to every other aspect of your career. It starts with taking seriously — rather than dismissing — the evidence of your own track record.

The imposter was never you. The imposter was the story you were telling yourself about yourself.