The Overachiever’s Guide to Imposter Syndrome

And Other Lies Overachievers Tell Themselves

My first experience with imposter syndrome involved an errant dromedary. It was Halloween, and of all my childhood costumes, the front-half of a camel was probably the most authentically me. No one knew it was me under there. I felt powerful without risk. I got to lead, pick the route, and carry the candy bag.

Even dressed as a camel, I already understood the rules: lead, be likable, and don’t take more than your fair share. That early training became a second skin, one I wore long after Halloween was over. I racked up gold stars for politeness, polish, helpfulness, and humility. I collected praise like snack-sized KitKats. Claiming my spotlight? That took decades.

Additional expectations revolved around academic performance. In my family, intelligence was prized; achievement earned interest. I proudly declared biochemistry as my college major. Then nearly flunking biology, I quietly declared, "Never mind" and made a strategic retreat to economics. That pivot wasn’t brave; it was damage control. My internal sirens blared, “Failure! Don’t try that again!” My pride mumbled, “Okay. Let’s ace something else.”

Fear is the petri dish where imposter syndrome grows. It feeds on the panic of not measuring up and the shame of shifting gears. My academic detour wasn’t just about GPA damage control. When your self-worth is linked to success, even a smart reroute feels like a surrender. And when you’re conditioned to think that doing it perfectly is the bare minimum, failure isn’t feedback, it’s freefall.

Imposter syndrome doesn’t always shout, “Don’t do it! You might fail”, like mine did after my biological evolution. More often, it's sneakier, like compliance wrapped in productivity and pearls. Your voice says "yes", when you meant "hell, no." Compliments feel like phishing scams, and success like a lucky break. “Don’t get too comfortable. They’ll figure you out. And then what will you do, missy?”

And then comes a twist! Imposter syndrome isn’t always about feeling unqualified. Sometimes, it’s knowing you’re damn qualified and still struggling to speak up, ask for the raise, or own your wins. Imposter syndrome can dress up both as self-doubt and as the inability to self-advocate.

Self-doubt whispers, “I can't do this.” while the self-advocacy gremlin says, “I deserve this, but I’ll wait quietly for someone to notice.” Spoiler: they usually don’t. 

I could pitch corporate strategy to any boardroom, but pitching myself? I either came in too hot and got burned or said nothing and left with regret. The challenge wasn’t my confidence. It was deprogramming a belief that self-advocacy was selfish.

I didn’t overcome imposter syndrome just by polishing my resume or working long hours, although they definitely factored in. Hiring an executive coach made all the difference. I overcame my imposter persona by learning that failure isn’t fatal; it’s feedback. It's like training for a race.

I stopped treating every mistake like a crisis and started using it as intel. I uninstalled the childhood code that told me invisibility was safety and obedience was virtue. I dropped the illusion that being "good" was the same as being valuable.

Imposter syndrome thrives on ego, fear, old scripts, and the belief that if you're not flawless, you're a fraud. Letting go of the perfection performance means you finally get to own your whole self, the one who's both lumpy and laudable. 

When I stopped playing a role, I got better at living the life I’d actually earned. I started asking for more. Even when the answer was "no", I gave myself a gold star for asking.

If you think you’re an imposter of either kind, remember this: you probably try harder, care more, and do more than most. You walk into rooms with a résumé full of accomplishments and still wonder if you belong.

Looking back, I didn’t fake my way through anything I accomplished. I earned every gold star, flawless audit, boardroom win. I didn’t nail everything on the first try, but I learned that falling short wasn’t the end. It was usually the beginning of something smarter and more effective.

So let’s reframe this: You’re not an imposter. You’re someone who worked twice as hard to prove what was already true. You care enough to strive for excellence. You enjoy being smart, capable, and useful. And you have every right to speak up: clearly, confidently, and without apology.

Know this though: Your achievements won't always speak for you. Your voice is needed to make sure you're heard.

Still wondering if you're good enough? That’s just leftover programming that some boss, some parent, some bully, or some corporate culture keeps laying on you.

So, nix your negative self-talk. Own your accomplishments. Fight your fear. Speak your truth. Stop procrastinating. Use your voice.

And hang up that camel costume. It doesn't fit you anymore.