You know that moment when you’re sitting at a fancy dinner, surrounded by people who are effortlessly discussing art, politics, or (God help us) wine pairings, and you’re quietly wondering how you even got invited? That’s impostor syndrome. And for those of us navigating relationships or careers—or, frankly, just life—it sometimes feels like we’re the awkward plus-one to our own existence.
But here’s the thing: you’re not alone. In fact, I’d argue that impostor syndrome is one of the most universal experiences of adulthood, right up there with forgetting your laundry in the machine until it smells...funky. And that’s good news because it can be conquered. Or at least tamed. Let’s talk about how.
What Even Is Impostor Syndrome, Anyway?
First, let’s call it what it is: that sneaky voice in your head that whispers, “Are you sure you belong here?” It doesn’t matter if “here” is a new job, a relationship, or literally just posting a TikTok and bracing for impact. Impostor syndrome thrives on self-doubt, urging you to minimize your achievements (“Me? Get that promotion? Must’ve been a mistake.”) or overanalyze your worth (“Why would they swipe right on me?”).
For me, it first reared its head when I moved to Paris at ten years old. Picture a little Egyptian girl in a plaid uniform who barely spoke French, trying to figure out why her classmates were obsessed with baguettes and token French phrases like chiant. It was like being cast as the lead in a play when you hadn’t even read the script. I stuck out, and I knew it. Every mistake I made—a wrong verb conjugation here, a cultural misstep there—felt like evidence that I didn’t belong.
Sound familiar? That’s impostor syndrome: a relentless critic with the energy of an over-caffeinated roommate who just must point out every flaw.
Impostor Syndrome in Relationships: Why “Out of Your League” Needs to Die
There’s a special circle of impostor syndrome hell reserved for relationships. At first, you play it cool—“Who, me? Nervous? Never.” But the moment things get serious, the doubts creep in. “They’re probably just with me because they haven’t met anyone better yet,” or “What if they figure out I’m a mess who occasionally eats cereal for dinner?”
Here’s a classic Zahra anecdote: I once dated someone who unironically used spreadsheets to organize their life. Meanwhile, I’m the human embodiment of chaos theory. Their perfectly alphabetized spice rack mocked me every time I fumbled around for paprika. For months, I felt like a clearance rack item in their bespoke life. But then I realized something—my self-doubt was a self-fulfilling prophecy. The harder I tried to fit into their world, the more I lost sight of what made me interesting in the first place.
The truth? Relationships aren’t about being perfectly balanced, like a Michelangelo sculpture. They’re about celebrating the weirdness of the human experience. Maybe your partner boils quinoa to feed their sourdough starter, and you still cut sandwiches diagonally because you think they taste better that way. Who cares? What we call “leagues” in dating is just unnecessary categorization, as unhelpful as trying to organize Netflix by genre.
The Work-Life Crossover: “Fake It Till You Make It” (But Do It Your Way)
I’d be lying if I said academic life didn’t knock my confidence once or twice (okay, dozens of times). During my PhD research, I’d attend lectures where someone would casually reference texts I’d never heard of, as if everyone had read the same 1,000-page tome on Ottoman-era textile trade for bedtime stories. In those moments, I felt like I’d been cast in the wrong genre: me, rom-com energy, surrounded by historical drama people.
What got me through? Three things: 1. Preparation: I wasn’t afraid to admit when I didn’t know something—and then dive into the books to learn it later, at my own pace. 2. Perspective: No one can be the expert in everything. (Except maybe Beyoncé, but let’s not compare ourselves to Beyoncé; that’s not healthy.) 3. Personality: Sometimes, you win people over with who you are, not what you know. I leaned into my storytelling abilities and started presenting research in ways that felt authentic to me—making history relatable, coffee-in-hand, TED-Talk style.
The same applies to other careers or partnerships: stop trying to be an imagined version of “competence” you think others are expecting. Your flair is what makes you worth listening to—remember, even Marie Curie took breaks to drink tea (probably).
Tips for Going from Impostor to Expert
By now, you’re probably wondering: “Okay, Zahra, but how do I actually tell impostor syndrome to take a seat?” Here’s what worked for me:
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Redefine Expertise
Expertise isn’t about knowing everything. It’s about being open to learning. The next time you catch yourself thinking, “I don’t have enough experience for this,” flip it. Ask: “What can I contribute?” Whether in a new job, a creative project, or even a budding relationship, you bring a unique value that no one else can replicate—you. -
Document Your Wins
Impostor syndrome loves to erase your victories, so start keeping track of them. I have a “yay folder” in my inbox where I save kind emails and feedback. When doubts creep in, I go back and remind myself: I have succeeded before, and I’ll do it again. -
Channel Your Inner Coach
Treat yourself as kindly as you would a friend. Would you tell your bestie, “Yeah, you totally tanked that presentation, everyone hates you, it’s over”? No. You’d point out what they did well and how they can improve. Extend yourself the same grace. -
Find Your People
Surround yourself with those who lift you up. For me, that’s a mix of family steeped in Egyptian humor (“Oh, you’re nervous? Here, have some koshari and stop overthinking”), mentors who show me the ropes, and a core group of friends who will always tell me if I have spinach in my teeth.
Embrace the Journey—Tangles and All
Here’s the thing about impostor syndrome: it doesn’t just disappear overnight. Even now, there are moments when I’m presenting a big idea and feel a slight tremor of doubt. But I’ve learned that belonging isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up, over and over again, until the room—or the relationship—feels a little more yours, and a little less intimidating.
So, the next time that voice in your head says, “What if they figure out you’re not as smart/talented/lovable as they think?” take a breath and remind yourself: they’re not looking for someone perfect; they’re looking for someone real. Life is messy, connections are supposed to be imperfect, and you, dear reader, are more than equipped to handle it all.
Take it from me: the Egyptian girl who couldn’t pronounce “croissant” correctly at first but now eats them with all the confidence in Paris. You’ll get there, too.
