You know that moment in the movie when the protagonist steps onto the stage (literal or metaphorical), their voice cracking or their palms sweating, only to absolutely crush it—a standing ovation, confetti from the heavens? You’re riveted because deep down, you relate. You’ve been the beginner, the newbie dog-paddling in the deep end of imposter syndrome. The “is-everyone-staring-at-me?” feeling before the big presentation. The shaky “I don’t deserve to be here” pulse during a first date with someone who seems just a little too good to be true. The truth is, most of us have walked the tightrope between self-doubt and growth.

Been there. Am there. Semi-regularly RSVP to summer vacations there. And, spoiler alert, I’ve learned this: growth doesn’t wait for confidence to show up—it’s what gets us to it.

So, pull up a chair. Let’s talk about how to go from impostor to expert—not just in the abstract, motivational-poster way but in a real, “still-worried-I’ll-trip-but-I-bring-my-own-safety-net-now” kind of way.

Impostor Syndrome Has a Main Character Complex

Here’s the thing about impostor syndrome: it thrives on the narrative. It’s the Regina George of our inner lives, constantly whispering, "You’re not qualified for this." My first post-MFA job was as a script reader for a Very Fancy Studio. Picture this: 22-year-old me, head buried in scripts, terrified someone would discover I still couldn’t fully explain the third act of Citizen Kane. (Can anyone, though?) I’d be skimming these 110-page masterpieces from seasoned writers, pausing every 20 pages to Google terms or—yes—hyperventilate.

And what kept me in the game? A realization that changed everything: everyone starts somewhere. Those polished writers had to wrestle their own demons of doubt at some point—likely over late-night coffee and a crying-fit draft. What I mistook as failure wasn’t failure; it was a rite of passage.

Step One: Rewrite the Script in Your Head

You know that annoying relative who still calls you your childhood nickname, like “Schnookie” or worse? Impostor syndrome is like that. It clings to outdated labels—like “unqualified” or “clueless”—and doesn’t realize you’re way past that chapter. Learning to manage it is about being your own editor (side note: am obsessed with red pens).

Ask yourself:

  • What’s the core fear? For me, it wasn’t “I don’t belong.” It was “I might never live up to expectations.”
  • And is it true? Ninety-nine percent of the time, the answer’s no. You’re not doing brain surgery (unless you are, in which case, double-check but carry on).

Practice replacing those “what if I mess this up?” thoughts with “what if this is my learning moment?” Confidence doesn’t mean knowing you’ll crush it; it’s trusting yourself to bounce back if you don’t.

Step Two: Act Like You Belong—Even if You Don’t Feel Like It (Yet)

There’s a term in social psychology: "fake it till you make it." Cheesy? Yes. But also, science-backed. Our brains respond to behavior the way toddlers respond to bedtime bribery: with eventual buy-in. If you dress the part, speak the part, and carry yourself like someone who belongs...well, soon you do.

My Dad (classic old-Hollywood producer type: big cell phones, bigger opinions) once told me, “Kiddo, nobody's going to pin a medal on your chest and say ‘congrats, you’re qualified.’ You walk into a room and decide you are.” I tried it—first nervously, then like the protagonist of my own indie film montage. Sure enough, the showbiz circle I was terrified of stopped feeling like Mount Olympus and started feeling like people navigating their own career insecurities.

This same mindset shift applies to relationships, by the way. If you’ve ever walked into a cocktail party and thought, “I am the least sexy/weirdest/most socially awkward person here,” try flipping to, “I am at least one person’s type, and I’ll focus on that.” Magic.

Step Three: Nerd Out About the Work

Let’s be real: you’re not going to feel expert-level at something unless you’ve clocked hours on the field—and sometimes spending those hours is half the battle. When I transitioned from screenwriting to personal essay writing (because, hello, my quarter-life revelations weren’t short-film material anymore), I didn’t feel instantly great at it. I felt like a kid playing dress-up in a serious writer’s shoes.

So, I became a sponge. I read endlessly—Nora Ephron essays on relationships, David Sedaris snippets about family, literally all of Joan Didion. I took workshops, wrote bad drafts, corrected them, poured my embarrassing internet stories into Word docs, slashed them apart, and sent work out anyway.

You don’t wake up an “expert”—but every article read, every stupid voice recording you make to rework your flirting game, and every (yes) disastrous date is a step closer. The way to bypass impostor syndrome is to show yourself you take learning as seriously as others take teaching.

Step Four: Keep a “Hell Yes!” File

Remember those days when you’re spiraling? That’s when you need receipts. Start a file—yes, literally a folder—of every moment you proved yourself. Positive feedback from work, a compliment someone gave you on your style or humor, even a text from your best friend after you conquered a big milestone. Over time, this collection becomes your antidote—your tangible proof you’re killing it more often than not.

I use my Hell Yes! File whenever I get the writing equivalent of stage fright. Revision notes I nailed on a short story? Hell yes! Reader emails about how relatable my essays were? Hell yes, and also cry emoji. You’d be surprised how energizing it is to look at your wins in black-and-white during moments when you feel gray.

Final Thoughts: Impostor Syndrome Doesn’t Equal Less-Than

Here’s where I want to leave you: feeling like an impostor isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s actually a sign you care. The trick lies in shifting the mindset. What if doubt wasn’t a red flag but an arrow pointing toward growth? What if every moment of, “I have no clue what I’m doing,” was followed by, “and isn’t that fantastic, because now I can learn?”

So go climb the metaphorical (or literal?) stage, sweaty palms and all. Chances are, the people you admire most felt the same way once. Whether it’s in a new relationship, a new role at work, or a hobby you’re just picking up now—you don’t become great by waiting for permission. You get there by starting messy, pacing yourself, and rewriting the definition of “expert” altogether.

Standing ovation incoming. Just wait.