Have you ever stood at the trailhead of a metaphorical mountain, staring up at a summit you’re not entirely sure you can reach? Same, friend. For me, that summit was learning how to stop feeling like a total fraud in my own life—a chronic case of impostor syndrome that followed me around like an awkwardly friendly bear. Whether it was my awkward early attempts at relationships or figuring out how to be taken seriously as a writer, I’ve spent a great deal of time looking over my shoulder, half-expecting someone to tap me on the back and say, “Actually, Trent, we’ve realized you have no idea what you’re doing, so…”

But here’s the thing: you don’t conquer impostor syndrome by waiting for an internal memo saying you’re good enough now. Self-doubt doesn’t just roll over and die quietly in the woods. You have to out-hike it, outlast it, and sometimes even outsmart it. Here’s how I went from feeling like a guy faking it in sketchy climbing boots to someone who’s (mostly) learned to stand tall in his purpose. And spoiler alert: you can, too.

The First Step Is Always Wobbly

Let’s rewind to a particularly vivid memory: the first time I Dehydrated Mushroomed a relationship. That term? It’s not official, but go with me here—it’s when you make yourself smaller than you really are, like a mushroom shriveling up in the sun. I was 22, fresh out of college, moonlighting as a seasonal forest ranger, and feeling like every part of my life was on thin ice—or melting permafrost, as it were.

The girl in question was cool—like, “I know the entire Woody Guthrie discography” cool. I bent myself into pretzel shapes trying to seem just as deep, just as worldly, and, somehow, just as into abstract jazz. I failed gloriously. Why? Because I’d missed the most important point: you can’t connect with someone genuinely when you’re too busy curating a fake version of yourself. It's like showing up with carbon-copied map coordinates of Yellowstone when the real thing is about three states over. Pro tip: People—and life—can usually spot the difference.

Claim Your Path (Even If You’re Not Fully Sure Where It Leads)

The first step toward leaving impostor syndrome behind is realizing you’re allowed to take up space—mountain-sized space, barn-sized space, maybe even space the size of one of those inflatable T-Rex costumes. Giving yourself permission to own your literal and metaphorical quirks can be tough, but it’s the only way forward.

What finally clicked for me was snowshoeing one foggy morning where visibility was about as promising as my chances of winning an arm-wrestling contest against Paul Bunyan. I was slogging my way toward higher ground, doubting everything—the trail, my stamina, my decision to pack smoked trout for lunch. Then, as the clouds started to break, something hit me: clarity doesn’t wait. Sometimes it only comes after you’ve already taken those unsteady steps forward.

The same applies to relationships, careers, and really any part of life. The people I’ve admired most have never claimed to have it all figured out; they just keep moving.

Practical Steps for Traversing the Self-Doubt Trail

Okay, here’s where we get actionable. If you’re staring down your personal mountain of impostor syndrome, here are some things that helped me stop feeling like a fraud and start feeling like a work in progress (an empowering one, I promise):

  1. Stop Comparing Your Trail to Someone Else’s
    Your progress will never look like someone else’s, period. It took me a while to figure out that trying to match someone step-for-step only distracts from authentic growth. Every hiker knows their stride; find yours.

  2. Own the Gaps
    Look, I didn’t know what the heck I was doing when I started working for the Forest Service, and guess what? That was fine. Confidence grows when you stop treating your weaknesses like secrets. Admit what you don’t know—it’s way less energy-draining than pretending you’re already halfway to guru status.

  3. Build a Compass of Proof
    Impostor syndrome loves gaslighting you into ignoring your wins. Keep a list somewhere—a journal, a Notes app file stuffed between grocery lists—of moments when you’ve shown up, smashed it, or even just tried your best and survived. This proof becomes your compass when doubt creeps in.

  4. Ask Questions Like You Belong
    Go into those meetings, dates, or life situations believing your voice has value. Take it from me: nobody’s rolling their eyes when you speak—well, nobody worth your time, anyway.

  5. Reframe Failure
    Do I have failures? Oh boy, do I. But the longer I dwelled on them as “evidence” that I didn’t belong, the longer I stayed stuck. Start thinking of failure like trail markers—they’re part of the route, not the end of it.

Humor as Survival Gear

Quick confession: When in doubt, I make jokes. Witty or bad (usually bad), humor has been my lifeline in those moments I’ve felt most out of my depth. Like when I blurted out, “Guess I’m basically the Bob Ross of this hiking trip—happy little detours, y’know?” during my first guided trek, while internally screaming. Nobody seemed to care that I’d gotten half the route wrong; they laughed. And that, friends, was the power dynamic shift I didn’t know I needed.

The conclusion here isn’t that you should turn everything into stand-up comedy. But being able to laugh—even at yourself—might just be the boldest proof that you’re starting to own your spot at the table (or the trailhead).

The Summit Isn’t the End

Here’s the good news: the more you chip away at impostor syndrome, the more you realize some summits are overrated. Is it nice to feel like “an expert” eventually? Sure. But focusing too hard on arrival points can overshadow the hard-won journey. There’s beauty in owning your messy humanity, in saying, “I don’t know it all, but I’m showing up anyway.”

If you’re still doubting yourself, my advice is this: Don’t let your inner peanut gallery narrate the adventure. Own that wobbly first step, walk farther than your doubt thought you could, and remember—the trail belongs to you.