You Don't Have Imposter Syndrome. You Just Got Told You Did.

There was a version of me, years ago, who was just... confident. Not performing it. Actually had it. I didn't even have a name for what I was feeling, I just felt capable most days, doing hard new things because I trusted myself.

And then at some point I heard the phrase "imposter syndrome." And I swear something shifted after that. Not because anything about me had actually changed. Because I finally had a name to hang every normal moment of uncertainty on. Nervous before a big presentation? Imposter syndrome. Second guessing a decision? Imposter syndrome. The completely normal feeling of "I've never done this exact thing before"? Also imposter syndrome, apparently.

I didn't develop imposter syndrome. I got handed a word, and the word taught me how to interpret myself differently than I had been before.

I think that's happened to so many of us, and honestly nobody talks about it enough.

Here's the part almost nobody mentions: this term was coined studying successful women, and it's been marketed to women ever since. It didn't show up as some universal description of being human. It was a diagnosis built for a specific group of people, and then it got handed to an entire generation of us as the default explanation for literally any uncertainty at work.

You'd already been told what to call it before you even felt it. And once you know the name, you can't unknow it. Every new thing you tried, every hard thing, every normal "I don't know what I'm doing yet" all got filed under the same label: Proof I'm a fraud, instead of what it usually actually is. Evidence you're doing something new.

And, that's not a syndrome. That's just called learning.

And here's something else I’ve been thinking about. "Imposter" implies deception. Like you're pretending, tricking people into thinking you're qualified when secretly you know you're not. But that's never actually what's happening when you feel nervous or uncertain.

You're not lying to anyone. You're just being a human doing something hard.

You want to know who's actually closer to being an imposter? The person who walked into the role without ever having to prove a single thing. Who got the benefit of the doubt automatically, got handed the opportunity because of who they knew instead of what they built, never once had to make a case for their own competence because nobody ever asked them to.

You worked for every inch of the room you're standing in. You're not the imposter. You just got taught to doubt yourself the hardest, while somebody else walked in the door doubting nothing at all.

I'm not saying the feeling isn't real. It is. I’ve felt it. I still feel it sometimes. What I'm questioning is whether the label actually helped, or whether it did the opposite… took something universal and temporary and turned it into an identity. A diagnosis you now carry into every room, instead of a passing feeling you'd have shaken off in twenty minutes if nobody had ever told you it meant something was wrong with you.

I think about who I was before I heard that word. Genuinely more confident. Not because I had less to doubt. Because I hadn't learned yet to treat that doubt as proof.

So here's what I want you to sit with before we go further in this series: What if the problem was never that you're secretly a fraud? What if the problem is you got handed a word that taught you to treat every normal moment of not knowing as evidence against yourself?

That's a completely different starting point. And it changes everything.

xo, Lindsey

This is post 1 of 3. If this landed somewhere, I'd love to talk about it. My 1:1 coaching calendar is open.