“We are who we believe we are.” ~C.S. Lewis
Have you ever caught yourself hiding behind the term “imposter syndrome”? I know I have—more times than I’d like to admit.
We hear the phrase so often now, and it’s almost become a catch-all for our fears, doubts, and insecurities. But what if I told you that imposter syndrome isn’t what you think it is? What if it’s something deeper that has been with you far longer than your career or the roles you play in your life?
Let me take you on a journey that may mirror your own. It starts in a place many of us know well: childhood.
My first taste of feeling “less than” came early, in the first grade, at a Catholic elementary school in Lawrence, Kansas.
I remember sitting on the gray carpet in a circle with my classmates, already feeling small and unsure. A boy named AJ, whose words still echo in my mind, said, “Take off your mask.” I was too young to understand what he meant, but my insecure little heart decided it was a comment on my appearance. Was my face not good enough? Did I need a mask to hide behind?
I was already feeling uncertain about myself when my teacher called on me to spell the word “bowl.” Such a simple word, but in that moment, it felt like an impossible challenge.
My heart raced as I struggled to find the letters, and as the giggles of my peers filled the air, I turned fire-engine red, shrinking into myself.
The harder I tried to hide, the redder and more embarrassed I became. I don’t remember how long it took for the teacher to move to another student, but I do remember hearing a deep message from within. The message was clear: I was “dumb…and maybe ugly.” This moment became a cornerstone in the foundation of my self-belief.
Years later, as a junior in high school, I moved from Kansas to Cleveland. Moving across the country in the middle of high school rocked my world.
The new school was enormous, so vast that I felt like a speck, unseen and invisible. My insecurities, which had been nurtured since that day in first grade, came flooding back.
Wearing cut-off jeans, a baggy t-shirt, and sandals—a perfectly acceptable Kansas high school outfit—I found myself just trying to survive in this new world, where the girls dressed like they were straight out of a scene from the nineties film Clueless. I felt like I didn’t belong.
One day in math class, the teacher, Mr. Dillon, called on me. The question was simple, but I froze. My mind went blank, overwhelmed by the pressure to fit in, to be seen by the kids in the class, and to make friends. I couldn’t speak.
As I sat there looking at him, his words stung: “Did you even pass the third grade?”
I wanted to disappear, to escape the burning embarrassment that filled my cheeks and the tears that welled up in my eyes.
The classroom fell silent as his words hung in the air, and I could feel every pair of eyes on me. In that moment, all I could feel was judgment. I wanted to be noticed, but not in this way. Once again, I was “dumb,” and once again, I shrank.
These moments, though small in the grand narrative of life, became monumental in shaping who I believed I was. I withdrew, rarely raising my hand, counting the kids in front of me, then the paragraphs in novels so I could rehearse my lines and avoid any chance of being caught off guard.
I wouldn’t listen to the world around me; I only practiced my own words, desperately clinging to the hope that I wouldn’t expose my perceived inadequacies.
I learned that if I raised my hand for the thing I knew, then maybe I could stay quiet for the things I didn’t. I adapted. I stayed small, blending into the background, fearful of being noticed, fearful of being labeled “dumb” once again.
But life has a funny way of unfolding. Despite this deeply ingrained belief that I wasn’t smart enough, I found proof that I was, in fact, not dumb.
I ended up finding success when I least expected it. Fresh out of college, I landed a sales job and, without even realizing it, became the top sales account rep in the nation. I didn’t even know there was a ranking system!
Then, in my next role, I was named “Rookie of the Year,” again, to my surprise. It wasn’t because I had set out with grand ambitions—far from it. I was simply doing my best, without the burden of expectations or the fear of failure weighing me down.
If I had known about these accolades ahead of time, I’m certain I would have sabotaged myself, convinced that someone like me could never achieve such success. The labels I had adopted as a child were still there, lurking in the background, ready to pull me down.
But what I didn’t realize then is that those labels, those beliefs, were never truly mine. They were the words of others, handed to me and accepted without question. They became part of my internal belief system, shaping how I saw myself at my core.
Recently, I had lunch with a dear friend, a woman who has built an incredible business and dedicated her life to empowering young girls. She’s someone I deeply admire. When I asked her, “What’s next for you?” she paused and said, “I know where I want to go, but imposter syndrome is holding me back.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Here was a woman who had created a thriving business and positively impacted thousands of lives, yet she was still questioning herself. I had to dig deeper. When I asked her what she felt underneath, she paused again and said, “I’m a loser.”
There it was—the truth. It wasn’t imposter syndrome at all. It was an old belief, planted in her childhood, that had never fully healed.
She shared how she had struggled in school, how she had been held back in third grade, and how she had defied her parents’ expectations. Despite all her success, she still believed she was a “loser.”
And isn’t that the case for so many of us? We use the term “imposter syndrome” to describe the fear of being exposed, but we hide behind old, unhealed wounds. We’re looking for ways to stay safe and avoid stepping into our true power because, deep down, we still believe the lies we were told as children.
It’s taken nearly a decade of healing to finally understand that the labels we place on ourselves are often the very things holding us back. It’s not the opinions of others, our circumstances, or our environment—it’s our own internal belief system. This belief system, which shapes how we see ourselves at our core, is often clouded by the layers of hurt, fear, and insecurity that we’ve accumulated over the years.
Peeling back these layers is hard work. It requires a willingness to confront the parts of ourselves that we’ve hidden away and to question the narratives we’ve accepted as truth. But beneath those layers lies our truest self—the self that is brave, smart, strong, and so much more.
So, I ask you: Who would you be if the world hadn’t told you who they think you are? What would you do if you let go of the labels and embraced the truth of who you are at your core?
I’ve come to forgive those who labeled me as “dumb”—for I know now that it wasn’t their truest selves speaking. It was their own layers of pain, their own insecurities, projecting onto me. And I forgive myself for believing them and for carrying their words with me for so long.
This is a loving call to action, a call to get curious about your true self. Your soul has a purpose, and your truest self has so much to offer the world. I know it may seem like another motivational blog, but it’s so much more than that. This is me urging you to look deeper, find your truth, and don’t believe everything you think!
Somewhere within you are beliefs that are not true, and if you release them, you can feel lighter and more open and see the abundance waiting for you. Don’t let the labels and layers hold you back any longer. Peel them away, one by one, and step into the fullness of who you are meant to be.
You are not the beliefs that others have placed upon you. You are so much more. It’s time to stop believing your beliefs and start believing in yourself.
