The Voice Inside Your Head Isn’t Always Right
It starts innocently enough. A big milestone looms on the horizon—your first big job, meeting the parents, or hosting a Friendsgiving where somehow everyone expects you to roast the perfect turkey. Pretty soon, that small voice inside pipes up: "Who are you to pull this off? Someone’s going to figure out you have no clue what you’re doing."
That, my friends, is impostor syndrome—a sneaky little companion that loves to crash the party just when you’re gearing up to step into your greatness. I know it well. For years, it had me walking into rooms full of Ivy Leaguers and Capitol Hill sharks feeling like the understudy who got pushed on stage without rehearsals. But if you’ve ever felt like an accidental player in the sitcom of your own life, take it from me: you’re not alone, and you’re definitely not powerless.
Let’s break this down, step by step—how I got from feeling like a fraud to embracing the role of expert (or at least a work-in-progress with some hard-won wisdom).
The Awkward Early Days: Fake It Till You… Flail?
Picture this: a kid from northeast D.C. lands at the Kennedy School, surrounded by classmates who seem to have been born reciting policy papers. They talked about lobbying like it was a recreational sport. Meanwhile, I’m sitting there, trying not to let the anxiety show: Why in the world would this room care about what I have to say?
I remember one time, a professor called on me to share a “comparative perspective” on affordable housing policies. My brain froze, but my mouth—thanks to panic—kept moving: “Well, I think this issue needs to be understood in terms of, um, onions… because housing policies have layers.” Layers??? ONIONS??? Miles away, even my Jamaican mom probably felt a tremor of secondhand embarrassment.
Moments like that became familiar. But here’s the thing I wish I’d realized sooner: Everyone has their “onion moment.” The polished exteriors we see in others? 90% of the time, they’re just better at ducking visible sweat. Recognizing this was step one in my transformation: understanding that no one’s out here with all the answers.
Debunking the Myth of Perfection
Impostor syndrome feeds off the myth of the “perfect expert.” It whispers that unless you know everything, you don’t deserve to be here. But let me tell you something I learned the hard way: expertise doesn’t mean knowing it all; it means knowing how to find what you don’t know—and being open enough to learn from everyone around you.
This clicked for me during a policy roundtable in my early career. A well-respected researcher openly said, “I actually don’t know the answer to that, but I can connect you with someone who might.” I remember thinking: Wait, what? You can just… admit you don’t know something?
Turns out, vulnerability isn’t a flaw; it’s a superpower. Admitting what you don’t know isn’t a sign of incompetence, but of humility. And let’s be real—life always makes sure we’re the student before ever letting us call ourselves the teacher.
Growing Into Your Role, Brick by Brick
Overcoming impostor syndrome isn’t something you just snap your fingers and conquer. It’s more like going to the gym: uncomfortable at first, but each rep builds mental muscle. If you’re in the thick of it, here are some strategies that worked for me:
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Separate Feelings from Facts
Feeling unqualified doesn’t mean you are. Keep a “receipt file”—notes, emails, or Post-its reminding you of your wins, no matter how small. Mine includes a note from a supervisor after nailing a policy memo: “Concise AND impactful. Way to elevate the conversation.” On rough days, these little affirmations remind you that you’ve earned your seat at the table. -
Reframe Your Inner Critic
My dad taught me an old Jamaican proverb: “Every mickle mek a muckle,” meaning every small effort adds up to something significant. When self-doubt creeps in, try reframing the narrative: It’s not about walking in flawless—you’re contributing your current “mickle” and building toward that big “muckle.” Each time you show up, even imperfectly, you’re adding to your value. -
Find Your Cheer Squad
Build a community of mentors, friends, or colleagues who don’t just gas you up but keep you grounded. I rely on my people all the time—whether it’s a pep talk from an old boss before a new book launch or a hard truth from my sister when my head gets too big. Having people in your corner makes the climb manageable. -
Redefine 'Expert'
Early on, I thought expertise meant delivering answers like you’re on Jeopardy. Now I know it’s more about listening, asking smart questions, and adapting as you go. Being an “expert” in relationships, for example, isn’t always about having flawless communication (trust me, I’ve had my share of clumsy arguments). It’s about showing up, trying, and being willing to grow when you mess up.
Embrace the Messiness of Becoming
Here’s the truth no one told me at the beginning: the journey to confidence is messy. You’ll have moments where you crush it, and others where you feel like you’re auditioning for a role in Clueless. Sometimes, those two things even happen in the same week.
Romantic relationships are no different. I once took someone special to a fancy D.C. restaurant, trying to play the role of smooth, worldly Marcus. When the waiter came by, I mispronounced half the French menu (who knew “foie gras” didn’t rhyme with “grass”?). But you know what? That moment wasn’t about the slip-up—it was about laughing through it, being comfortable in my imperfections, and, ultimately, showing that authenticity beats a flawless façade any day.
From Flirt to Familiar (and More Sure of Yourself Every Day)
Whether you’re stepping into a new role, nurturing a budding connection, or just trying to figure out this thing called life, impostor syndrome is bound to pop up. But here’s the kicker: It doesn’t mean you’re not ready. In fact, it often means you are.
Remember, you are your experiences, not your self-doubt. Every misstep is a stepping stone, every onion analogy a chance to laugh and grow. And when that voice inside tries to tell you you’re not enough, let my voice be louder: You’ve got this, one mickle at a time.
