Sometimes, hearing someone praise your accomplishments feels surreal—like they’re describing someone else entirely. What others see as remarkable or exceptional often feels, to me, like nothing more than ordinary actions. I do what seems logical or necessary without much thought to how it might appear to others. Yet, when those efforts are framed as feats worth admiration, I find myself caught in an unsettling mix of gratitude, doubt, and fear.
Growing up in the countryside, I was surrounded by challenges that demanded resourcefulness. There wasn’t the luxury of outsourcing problems or waiting for help. Whether it was building a shed, fixing a car, or installing plumbing, it wasn’t a matter of skill or talent—it was survival. You either figured it out, or you failed. I didn’t see it as extraordinary; it was simply what had to be done. I never stopped to marvel at what I accomplished, and I certainly never expected others to.
Now, when people express amazement at what I’ve done, their words often feel too large, too lofty for the person I see myself as. After a recent meeting with individuals who, on paper, were far more qualified than I am, I received compliments that left me almost paralyzed. They described my work and abilities in ways that made me sound accomplished—remarkable, even—but I couldn’t recognize the person they were talking about. The person they described sounded like someone more capable than I believe myself to be. It wasn’t just humbling; it was unsettling.
This is where the doubt of imposter syndrome creeps in. Even when I logically know I’ve earned those words, there’s a voice in my head that questions whether I truly deserve them. Have I just been lucky? Am I fooling people into thinking I’m more capable than I am? What if they eventually see through me? That voice clings to every self-doubt, whispering that no matter how much I’ve done, it’s not enough—that I’m not enough.
What makes it more complicated is the constant need for improvement. I’m always chasing a better version of myself, as if to outrun the person I used to be. There are moments when it feels like I’m trying to kill the person I once was, burying them under each new skill, each new achievement, hoping to erase the flaws and inadequacies of the old me. It’s as though I’m building a version of myself that I believe is worthy of admiration, because deep down, I fear that the person I was—or perhaps still am—never could be.
This drive for reinvention is exhausting, but it’s also what keeps me moving forward. The fear of being unworthy becomes fuel for improvement. It pushes me to learn more, do more, and be more. But it also keeps me from appreciating where I am and what I’ve already achieved. I’m so focused on building the next version of myself that I rarely pause to acknowledge the foundation I’ve already laid.
The challenge, then, isn’t just overcoming the doubt—it’s learning to reconcile the person I see with the person others see. It’s recognizing that while improvement is important, it shouldn’t come at the cost of dismissing my own worth. The fear of being an imposter can coexist with the truth of my accomplishments. And maybe, just maybe, the person I’m building isn’t running from who I was, but honoring the version of me that brought me here.