I Didn’t Always Believe in Myself… And That’s Okay

I’ve wrestled with self-doubt for as long as I can remember.

Not just as a writer. Not just as a creative. But as a person.

I was that girl who never quite felt like she fit in. Not at school. Not even in the spaces where, on the outside, I looked like I was thriving. I was always questioning. Always running this silent race… not just against the world but against myself.

Be better. Work harder. Stay two steps ahead. Don’t give them a reason to doubt you.

That inner voice became the soundtrack of my life. And for years, I thought it was just ambition or a desire to be liked.

But it was fear. Fear that if I slowed down or slipped up, somebody would notice the cracks. That they’d see what I was secretly afraid was true: that I didn’t really belong. That I wasn’t enough.

Imposter Syndrome Had Me in a Headlock

I didn’t have the language for it back then. But what I was carrying… that constant need to prove myself, that worry that at any moment someone would “find me out”… that was imposter syndrome. I have just recently began to name it for what it was/is. 

And let me keep it all the way real: It didn’t magically disappear when I got a degree or landed a "good" job. It didn’t go away when I started getting the good performance reviews or the shoutouts for my work. It didn’t vanish when people told me I was “so impressive” or “killing it.” Promotions at work didn't help. Paychecks aren't the cure. Compliments are pretty words and make you feel nice for a while, but when you're alone with your thoughts those pretty words fade into the far recesses of your mind.

The truth is, I’ve been successful and still wondered if I belonged in the room. I’ve been popular and still felt like I didn’t belong and nobody liked me.

Especially as a Black woman in corporate spaces, where the air can feel so thick and suffocating. Where there’s this unspoken pressure to be twice as good for half the credit. Where you learn early how to read a room, measure your tone, soften your edges, and sometimes… unfortunately… make yourself small enough to not ruffle feathers.

I’ve held my tongue in meetings where I knew I had the answer. I’ve downplayed my ideas so I wouldn’t come off as “too much.” I’ve watched other people speak boldly, while I sat back battling the fear that my words wouldn’t land the right way… or worse, that they’d be used against me.

And honestly? It has shown up just as much in my creative life as it has in my professional one.

There have been nights where I sat with my laptop open, staring at words that felt… small. Questioning if anybody would care. If my voice was worth hearing. If my stories mattered.

I know what it feels like to second-guess yourself even when you have a gift. To write a paragraph, delete it, rewrite it, and then delete it again. To scroll social media, watching everybody else’s highlight reel, wondering why their dreams look so polished while yours feel like a half-finished sentence.

I’ve been right there… successful on paper, but still wondering if I was truly good enough to occupy a corporate space. Still wondering if I had the right to call myself a writer, a creative, an artist.

But Here’s What I’ve Learned (And Am Still Learning)

Imposter syndrome is a liar. It doesn’t whisper truth… it shouts your deepest fears back at you until you believe they’re facts.

But here’s the thing: feelings aren’t facts.

And the fact is… I do belong. I’ve earned my place. I’ve put in the work. I’ve shown up, even when I was scared. And I am not required to carry the weight of proving my worth to people who can’t or won’t see it.

The work now… the healing… is recognizing when that fear is creeping in. Catching it before it takes the mic. Reminding myself that I don’t have to hustle for my humanity. That my voice matters, even if it shakes or if I stutter. That shrinking doesn’t keep me safe… it keeps me stuck.

Some of the things that have helped me (and maybe they’ll help you too):

✅ Saying it out loud. Naming the imposter syndrome for what it is takes away some of its power. A good friend once told me to stop saying I have imposter syndrome because it makes me look weak. But I disagree. There is strength in owning your weakness, in naming the thing that tries to silence you. Imposter syndrome lives in silence… so I call it out.

✅ Checking the receipts. I mark my milestones. I’ve also started sharing my accomplishments with my family, giving myself credit when it’s due. I speak on my wins at work, making sure my boss knows what I’ve contributed and how I’ve shown my worth. More than that, I have started hyping myself up … to myself. Even if that mean randomly yelling out, “I did that sh*t!” after I do something that I impress myself with. (My kids and my husband may think I’ve lost my mind but its worth it.)

✅ Letting people see the real me. Not the version that fits the setting. Not the got-it-all-together version. The real one. The one who’s still learning. Still human. Perfectly imperfect. An anti-social social butterfly, wanting connections but seeking solitude. Comfortable in my contradictions.

✅ Building community with people who get it. Because let’s be honest… there’s something powerful about being in the company of people who truly understand you. Whether it’s family, friends, or even colleagues, having people around who can relate, who see you and affirm your experience, makes the journey a little lighter. And sometimes, it’s the people who may not fully understand your experience but love and support you anyway. They are the ones who show up, who listen, who stand beside you even if they can’t always stand in your shoes.

I’m Still a Work in Progress

I wish I could say I’ve conquered the doubt once and for all. But the truth is, I’m still working on it.

Still learning to speak up, even when my voice shakes or the words become jumbled in my mouth. Still practicing being seen, fully, without apology. Still reminding myself: I am worthy. I am enough. I belong.

So if you’re reading this and feeling like you’re the only one quietly questioning your place, I need you to hear me: You are not alone. You are not an imposter. You are not here by accident.

You’re here because you’re supposed to be.

I’d love to hear from you. If any of this resonated with you, drop a comment or share this with someone who needs the reminder. Let’s keep showing up for ourselves… and each other.