How To Navigate Imposter Syndrome

Bemused, I found myself thrust at a pack of teenage girls who immediately (and wrongly, I was sure), labelled me clever. Social death, of course. But also, and far more lastingly, the displacement unhooked my sense of self from the world. For the first time, I became aware of the uncomfortable distance between me, as I perceived myself, and the version of me I seemed unwittingly to project in the world. The disconnect made me feel like a fraud. All through school, and then university, I had the fear that someone would catch me out, that any minute now someone would point, and shout: ‘Don’t you see? She’s not clever at all, she’s just lippy!’

The duality pursued me into professional life. As a foreign correspondent and later as a lecturer and writer, I had the sense I was performing a role, not inhabiting it. When I did achieve, I would write it off as accidental or meaningless, believing I just had good luck, or had worked excessively hard. I belittled success and fixated on things that went wrong. I set unrealistic expectations. The inner dialogue was exhausting, and lonely. I still remember the relief when, in my thirties, I finally shared my fears with a friend and she nodded in recognition. ‘Oh, I have that too,’ she admitted. ‘It’s called imposter syndrome.’

These days, the term is much better known, and the syndrome acknowledged as common; no doubt many of you reading will have heard its caustic whisper, telling you you’re lacking. Some degree of self-doubt is of course normal, one of the ways we express our perplexity at the strangeness of being in the world. But in imposter syndrome, feelings of inadequacy become hypercharged and harmful. Fear of failure can hold us back, and prolonged stress can lead to burnout.

Studies have shown a crossover with perfectionism, anxiety and depression, but social factors drive it too. Prevalence is particularly high in those from minority backgrounds, whose self-perception may already have been corroded by reductive stereotypes and discrimination.

And there is also a gender dimension, with a recent poll suggesting the number of women who experience imposter syndrome could be as high as seven in ten. That’s not to say men don’t have it; many do. Even Albert Einstein told the Queen of Belgium that the “exaggerated” esteem in which he was held made him feel “an involuntary swindler”.

But there are different drivers for women, including the way we are taught from the earliest ages to diminish ourselves in the world. The conventional signs of professional success – assertiveness, directness, strength – are seen as ‘masculine’ and so often discouraged in girls: in small remarks and quiet codes, we are persuaded to hide them. (My school report, at 11: “Fiona…is a good organiser though on occasion can be a little ‘pushy’”. In other words: “Housewife potential, but tone yourself down.”) Where boys are allowed to be bold, girls are told to downplay our potency, soften our edges, put others’ needs first. Little wonder, then, that when we do succeed in professional spaces, we can find it hard to own.

Research done in the 1970s showed that when women do well at something, they are more likely to attribute it to luck or effort, in contrast to men, who are more likely to attribute it to ability. The converse is true, too: when something doesn’t go well, men will more likely write it off as bad fortune, while women will think they weren’t good enough. It is like modesty, another trait trained into women, gone rogue.

There are other factors too, including the disproportionate scrutiny women face, the superwoman ideal, the way women are constantly expected to shapeshift. And social media doesn’t help. Curated, soundtracked, filtered lives constantly taunt us, from influencers glowing on Instagram, TikTok, YouTube to the professional hell of LinkedIn, where everyone is constantly “thrilled” and “honoured”.

So what to do? Literature on the topic has bloomed: there are now countless self-help books (You’re Not Good Enough, You’re Great Enough; You Are A Badass; Loving your Doubt and so on), and a growing body of academic research. There is even an Imposter Syndrome Institute which, with the help of an easy four-part payment plan, can teach you how to help others break free from imposter syndrome and “experience the liberation of becoming HumbleRealist™” instead.

But if self-help books and trademarks are not for you, I have a few thoughts I can offer. Now almost fifty, I can’t pretend to be cured, but with age, and reflection, my imposter syndrome has become less acute. Here are some of the things I have learned:

1. Name it. While identifying the problem doesn’t stop it, self-awareness definitely helps. As one whip-smart, highly successful friend – who once turned down a leadership opportunity because she (wrongly) thought she couldn’t do it – recently told me, giving her imposter syndrome a label changed her entire outlook, helping her navigate her insecurities and reducing her stress and her nerves.
   
   
2. Know you’re in good company. Some of the most accomplished humans - Maya Angelou, Meryl Streep, Lupita Nyong’o, Tina Fey, Michelle Obama, for starters – have experienced imposter syndrome. Having it doesn’t make you less; it makes you complex and human.
   
   
3. Talk to yourself like you’d talk to a friend. If a friend were to tell you she’d been offered a promotion, but that it was just down to luck, you’d tell her to stop being daft, pop some champagne, and convince her she could conquer the world. Talk to yourself like that. We need to treat ourselves with more kindness.
   
   
4. Remember: everyone is just making it up as they go along. Ultimately, there is some truth in our fear that we don’t always know what we’re doing. The trick is to know that everyone else is winging it too. To some extent, we’re all imposters, working things out as we go. That, though, is the human condition: you are no less worthy, or capable, than anyone else. Your experience counts, and whether you like it or not, your successes are yours. So own them. Celebrate them. Stop worrying about being judged. And most of all – and this is what I wish I had known as an 11-year-old girl – just be yourself. Because if you are just yourself, how could anyone ever call you a fraud.