You know the feeling. You walk into a room—be it a board meeting, a casual date, or even a karaoke night—and suddenly, you’re convinced you’ve been caught in the world’s cruelest hidden-camera experiment. Everyone knows you’re a fraud. The board meeting? You have no business being there. The date? They’ll take one look at you chewing nervously on the breadstick and bolt. The karaoke night? Let’s not even start on your off-key rendition of "My Way" (sorry, Sinatra).

This isn’t just nerves; this is the dreaded impostor syndrome. And trust me, I know it well.

Step Right Up, Folks: The "Expert at Faking It" Show

Growing up just outside the showbiz capital of the world, Las Vegas, the art of illusion was more than a spectator sport—it was family game night. My dad worked behind the scenes of dazzling stage productions, pulling strings and tugging curtains to create magic. My mom, meanwhile, stitched sequined fantasies into reality for performers who looked larger than life. For all its glamour, though, The Strip taught me one valuable lesson: even the most spectacular acts have visible seams if you look close enough.

That knowledge should’ve filled me with confidence, but nope. Instead of thinking, "Everyone’s faking it to some degree," I assumed I’m the fraud while everyone else is the real deal. I felt like the cardboard version of a Vegas showgirl: shiny on the outside, but with nothing solid behind the glitter.

Fast forward to adulthood: a slightly scattered college student piecing together sentences in creative writing classes while secretly wondering if I was even good at this "words" thing. Every essay I turned in felt like pulling a rabbit out of a hat—practical, but hardly magical. My professors saw promise; I saw clever misdirection. Later, as I carved a career out of writing and started dabbling in more personal territory, I applied this same self-doubt to my relationships. Am I likable enough? Interesting enough? Real enough?

Spoiler alert: I was all those things. But it took time—and some hilariously awkward stumbles—to see it.

Fake It? Maybe. Make It? Definitely.

So, how did I go from hiding behind metaphorical sequins to owning my role, whether it’s in my career, friendships, or love life? Here’s the deal: overcoming impostor syndrome isn’t about squashing the self-doubt entirely (that’d be like trying to get rid of glitter—impossible). It’s about learning to work with it, much like learning to step into the light while knowing someone backstage is frantic with a fog machine. Here’s what helped me slide into the spotlight without tripping over my own feet:

1. Identify the Voice of Doubt (and Give It a Funny Name)

Impostor syndrome rarely enters quietly; it’s a heckler in the front row throwing popcorn at your self-esteem. Mine had a distinct voice—nasal, sharp, and twice as judgmental as the chorus of critics in American Idol. Years ago, I named this voice "Cheryl" after a particularly condescending PTA mom from my neighborhood growing up. Cheryl insists I don’t belong anywhere I dare to go. But here’s the funny thing about Cheryl: she’s loud, but she’s not all that bright.

Naming your inner critic gives you power over it. Now, when Cheryl pipes up, I imagine her in an outdated power suit, clutching a lukewarm coffee, and struggling to parallel park her SUV. Suddenly, she feels a lot less threatening.

2. Know That Even the Cool Kids Have Cracked Foundations

Everybody—yes, even that put-together person who flawlessly quotes Love Actually and knows how to pair a blazer with jeans—feels fraudulent at some point. In Vegas, the illusion of effortlessness is part of the charm, but peel back the curtain, and you’ll find human quirks, insecurities, and little flubs even in the best acts.

Once during a date, the guy compared himself to Ryan Gosling (bold) while anxiously rubbing his palms across his thighs like he was starting a campfire. His confidence swagger felt real, but his body language told a different story. It hit me: he’s faking it just like I’ve been faking it. And suddenly, I didn’t feel so out of place.

Remember: even your heroes have heroes. Anyone who’s mastered their role started somewhere uncertain.

3. Collect Wins, No Matter How Small

Ever been handed a task so daunting you thought, How do I even start? The trick is to break it into tiny, manageable milestones. It’s a lesson I learned when I was invited to emcee a local open mic night for the first time. I was prepared to bolt (Cheryl said I’d mess up every name on the roster), but instead, I focused on one simple goal: make it through the intro without fumbling.

Spoiler alert: I did fumble—hard. I called someone the wrong name and mispronounced an easy one, but guess what? Nobody cared as much as my inner Cheryl did. By enough trial and error, I realized I wasn’t there to be perfect; I was there to be present.

So, however you define wins—initiating a difficult conversation, keeping your peace on an awkward date, or showing genuine interest in someone else’s story—start stacking them. The pile grows faster than you think, and with it, your confidence.

4. Channel the Chaos

One of the best lessons I learned from my upbringing on the edges of The Strip is that glamour is nothing without chaos. There’s something beautifully human about leaning into that—not fearing the mistakes but embracing them. Forgot that insightful thing you meant to say in a meeting? Own it and circle back later. Texted "Nice to meat you" instead of "meet"? Laugh it off and blame autocorrect (or channel your inner dad-joke energy and make it absurdist humor). Sometimes the best icebreakers in life are your own bloopers.

5. Stop Waiting for Permission to Belong

This one’s the kicker: no one’s coming to knight you with a sword and validate that you absolutely, without a doubt, deserve your seat at the table (or the second date, or the karaoke spotlight). It doesn’t work that way. Belonging is homemade. For me, it meant starting to believe in my own voice, even if it was shaky, like that opening-night warm-up act. For you, it might be showing up to a date as your unapologetically weird self or not cushioning your ideas at work with “justs” (as in, "I just think maybe we could...").

Now You’re in the Spotlight

Here’s the thing about going from impostor to expert: the magic isn’t in suddenly waking up one day and declaring, "Why yes, I’ve arrived!" It’s in the daily decision to show up despite your inner doubts, to see your long-winded ramblings as part of the charm, and to recognize your growing wins for the proof of progress they are.

This isn’t about becoming someone more interesting or capable; it’s about realizing you’ve been that person all along—yes, even while juggling breadsticks awkwardly or stumbling over song lyrics in front of your crush. Cheryl might still heckle me now and then (she's relentless), but you better believe I learned to talk louder than her. And so can you.

So, adjust your metaphorical costume, let some of that stage fog settle, and step boldly into your role. You belong here—not because someone gave you permission but because, my dear reader, you decided to.