“They’re going to figure it out. Time’s up. I’m not half as smart as I’ve led them to believe. Any moment now, they are going to learn the truth about me. I am an impostor.” The fear isn’t external. It’s inside me, a voice whispering like a horror-movie twist: The call is coming from inside the office.
This voice didn’t just show up in my first year as an assistant professor of psychology. That would’ve made sense. But the thing is, this voice showed up in year six, right after I had earned tenure and been promoted to an associate professor. It grew louder in year 15 when I was asked to give a keynote address, and I wondered how in the world I ended up on this stage. It was sharp in year 27 when I chaired a department and felt like I had no idea what I was doing. And yes, it is still there, yelling in my ear in my 31st year as a professor.
Thirty-one years - a full career. I have taught numerous students, published over 60 peer-reviewed papers, presented more than 100 conference presentations, co-authored three books, and received numerous teaching awards, among other notable accomplishments. And still, some part of me waits for the knock on my door or the email in my inbox (the dreaded 5:00 pm Friday email), the moment someone says: “We made a mistake. You’re not really supposed to be here”.
That’s impostor syndrome, and it's not a brief moment of doubt that most of us have every once in a while. It’s a long-standing feeling that seems to greet me with every success, with every new role or committee assignment, with every new manuscript, and especially with every failure or mediocre review of my teaching or research.
So what is “impostor syndrome”? Is this a real thing, or just self-doubt? It is indeed a real thing, first identified back in the 1970s by Clance and Imes. In their seminal manuscript, they define imposter syndrome as “an internal experience of intellectual phoniness in individuals who persist in believing that they are really not bright and have fooled anyone who thinks otherwise.” Yep, that sounds familiar. I have spent a career believing that I have fooled my students, colleagues, department chair, and dean. But it’s not a rational belief. More recent definitions of impostor syndrome reflect the irrationality of this belief. Orbé-Austin and Orbé-Austin (2020) define impostor syndrome as “An internal experience of believing that you are not as competent as others perceive you to be, despite objective evidence of your success.”
This is the heart of the paradox. Despite a numerous and, dare I say, exhaustive list of academic achievements, I am still awaiting the knock on my door by someone with a box in their hand telling me the gig is up; pack and leave, sister. Orbe-Austin and Orbe-Austin’s research shows that it’s because we do not internalize our accomplishments. You see, when we are making judgements about the causes of our successes (and we do this for our failures as well), we essentially have two paths – we can take credit for our success (“I won the Excellence in Teaching award this year because I am an excellent instructor”), or we can attribute that success to something external (“the award committee must have just drawn names from a hat this year and somehow my name was called”). And for me, well, I usually attribute the causes of my successes to luck or hard work, because, you know, I am an impostor.
Perhaps the cruelest part of impostor syndrome is that no one ever talks about it. We are quick (thankfully) to celebrate achievements, promotions, degrees, and awards, but we rarely mention the fear that we may not have truly earned them.
When I won a teaching award in 2021, I recall saying something like, ‘Oh, thank you so much. This award is such an honor…” I might have been thinking, “What? Me? Are you sure you meant to choose me?” But I’d never say it out loud. Imposter syndrome seems to thrive on silence, which only feeds the belief that we are the only ones. We think that everyone else is confident, competent, and certain, and we are the outliers. But are we?
Heck no! The data suggests that a whole bunch of people have experienced impostor syndrome. Research suggests that nearly 70% of the general public will experience this syndrome at least once in their lifetime. Up to 82% of college students report experiencing impostor feelings at some point. The prevalence of impostor syndrome ranges from 30% to 60% among graduate and medical students. A 2019 study of U.S. employees found that 62% had experienced impostor syndrome at work. And it’s not just the “normal” people who experience impostor syndrome. Last summer, I watched a video featuring some of the best actresses of my generation (Jodie Foster, Nicole Kidman, Jennifer Aniston, and others). At one point, Jennifer Aniston says that most of the time, she has no idea what she is doing. Jodie Foster quickly agreed and said she feels the same way. What? Jodie Foster and Jennifer Aniston feel like they are frauds?! And more recently, both Hoda Kotb and Joanna Gaines spent nearly an entire podcast talking about how they felt like impostors in their respective professions. And these are all people who are the very best at what they do!
In short, it’s not just me! Many people in various fields, including education, employment, and entertainment, have felt like a fraud at some point in their lives. Yet we hardly ever talk about it. And honestly, after 31 years in my career, I’d love to finally be done talking about it, too.
I used to think it would fade with time. That one day I would feel secure. Like a “real” professor. Someone who belonged. But impostor syndrome finds a way to adapt. It kind of grows with you and finds new angles. Sometimes after a talk, I would think, “Well, that wasn’t so great”. Whenever I publish a paper, yes, I celebrate, but the self-talk says, “They must not have had many submissions”. But because I keep performing “good enough”, no one seems to suspect a thing, and I become an expert in hiding fear.
I wish I could say that I didn’t always feel this way, but on my bookshelf in my office, I have
I am not free from impostor syndrome. Not yet, and maybe not ever. But I have stopped treating it as if it were the truth. Nowadays, when the self-talk says, “they are so going to figure you out”, I say back, “Figure out what? That I care deeply about my students? That I’ve worked hard? That I’d show up, again and again, for 31 more years?” If that’s what “they” figure out, then maybe I’m exactly who I’ve claimed to be all along.
How about you? Do you think you’ve had moments of impostor syndrome? Curious if any of this rings true for you? Try the Clance Impostor Syndrome Scale and see how you score.