The impostor syndrome is driving me up the wall. Seriously, enough already. It’s a question we get asked way too often, like admitting to this so-called syndrome is some kind of initiation ritual, like the fact that we’re trying to build careers in a world shaped by patriarchy automatically comes with a package of self-doubt, over-the-top perfectionism, and that little voice whispering that we don’t deserve to be here. And you know what? No. I’m not buying it.
When someone asks us if we suffer from impostor syndrome, they’re not showing empathy, they’re diagnosing us. They’re telling us this is just the way things are, that the problem is inside us, that it’s psychological, individual. That we’re the ones who are broken. And just like that, the focus shifts away from the real issue: power structures, the subtle (and not-so-subtle) sexism, the fact that, because we are not white men, gaining recognition, holding authority, speaking without apologizing takes so much more effort. As if we need to go through a whole personal journey of self-doubt and therapy just to believe in ourselves when, in reality, we live in a system that deliberately makes it harder for us.
We all have insecurities. All of us. Everyone, really. You don’t have to be a woman to have moments of doubt, to feel like you’re not enough, to be afraid of not measuring up. And no, I’m not saying these feelings don’t exist, or that they don’t affect many women, but calling it a “syndrome,” calling it “impostor,” turns it into some kind of collective pathology that we just have to accept as part of the job. Like it’s a prerequisite to being a woman in certain fields. Like an extra weight we’re supposed to carry. And no. We don’t need another weight.
When someone asks us if we suffer from impostor syndrome, they’re not showing empathy, they’re diagnosing us. They’re telling us this is just the way things are, that the problem is inside us, that it’s psychological, individual. That we’re the ones who are broken.
The other day, I read an article by Mel Robbins where she said that no one should go around saying they “have anxiety,” that just saying it out loud gives it more power, makes it grow. And that got me thinking. How many times have we been asked if we suffer from impostor syndrome until we actually start wondering if, maybe, we do? How many times have we accepted this label without even questioning it? And how many times have we been asked if we “feel” like we deserve what we have, instead of questioning why the hell we still have to justify ourselves so much?
I don’t want to be an impostor. I don’t want to feel like one. And I don’t want anyone to have to live with this idea as if it’s just another part of who they are. What I want is for us to stop accepting this narrative, to stop making it about how we feel and start making it about how we are made to feel. To stop repeating this mantra of self-doubt and start shifting the focus where it really belongs—on power structures, on workplace dynamics, on the lack of women in leadership, on the added obstacles, on the way the world still treats us differently. No, we are not sick. And if we need to do anything, it’s not “heal,” it’s change the damn rules of the game.
Warm regards from the H6 bus,
Ingrid
