5 Steps to Stop Impostor Syndrome in Its Tracks

Social scientists David Dunning and Justin Kruger wanted to know whether people who are incompetent know that they’re incompetent.

Spoiler alert: they don’t. In the researchers’ paper “Unskilled and Unaware of It,” they write, “Although their test scores put them in the 12th percentile, they estimated themselves to be in the 62nd.”

That’s right. Dunning-Kruger Effect shows that people who know more about a given subject think they know less about it and people who are totally ignorant of a given subject are overconfident.

We see it in the office, in the news, in overambitious home repairs. The people who know the least about a given topic tend to overestimate themselves in that realm.

But the inverse is also true: The people who know the most tend to underestimate themselves.

Taken to its extreme, veni vidi vici!, it’s impostor syndrome, the feeling you’re a fraud at something you actually excel at and, at any minute, you’ll be found out.

The sick irony? If you were, in fact, incapable or ignorant, an impostor, you probably wouldn’t have the sense to question your ability.

While many of us have wrestle with it, some of us are more susceptible. According to the New York Times, “women tend to judge their performance as worse than they objectively are while men judge their own as better.” Also according to the Times, impostor syndrome’s effects on people who are minorities is compounded because of pressures of discrimination. (It turns out, people treating you like you’re incompetent despite your competence makes you feel like you’re incompetent.)

And for those of us who make art, often ephemeral, often in isolation or without recognition or pay, these intrusive thoughts can be especially hard to beat back once they enter.

If you’ve felt the pains of impostor syndrome, you’re in good company. Even former First Lady Michelle Obama recently shared that she struggles with this feeling.

“I had to work to overcome that question that I always asked myself, ‘Am I good enough?’ … That’s a question that has dogged me for a good part of my life,” she said.

She felt that way stepping into the Ivy League. She felt that way again when she was becoming the First Lady of the United States.

Unchecked, impostor syndrome keeps us from sharing our most meaningful contributions with the world. Instead, we keep them in notebooks, on hard drives, in basements. When we let impostor syndrome lead instead of our gifts, we undervalue our work, we fake smile our way through parties, we bloviate or self-deprecate and often isolate ourselves. We’re never known and the world misses out.

Thankfully, Michelle Obama harnesses the courage to acknowledge her impostor syndrome without letting it run her life.

So how do we trust in our worthiness and make our mark?

Here are five steps to stop impostor syndrome in its tracks:

Step 1. Recognize it for what it is.

But it can be tricky to identify: Impostor syndrome may look like humility outwardly. But it’s actually a rejection of the gifts and talents you possess.

Humility is a virtue, and arrogance a vice. So, are you being humble or not giving yourself enough credit?

C.S. Lewis said, “Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it’s thinking of yourself less.”

Do you hear your inner voice asking the question Michelle Obama asked: “Am I good enough?” Do you fear “getting caught” or “being found out”? Is there an anxious feeling attached? Is there an inward, negative focus?

If so, it’s likely impostor syndrome.

Or are you considering what you could give others with your knowledge, talents, or gifts? If you have an outward, positive focus, it’s likelier to be humility.

Once recognized, some of its power is diminished.

Step 2. Name it.

As shame and vulnerability researcher Brene Brown says, “Shame thrives in secret.” Tell a trusted friend or mentor what you’re experiencing. Often, in telling the story, you’ll see that the parts that made so much sense in your head don’t make sense out loud. In the telling, you might find the the feeling evaporating.

If not, it’s likely that who you tell will see your value and have an anecdote to share about a time they’ve felt like a phony. In sharing our experience, Brown says someone else can empathize with us and we realize we aren’t alone.

Why is naming so powerful? Brown says, “If you own this story, you get to write the ending.”

Step 3. Find the right people.

And, Brown emphasizes, it’s important who you choose to tell. You want honesty and compassionate support. In a “shame spiral,” you won’t trust the friend who you know offers effusive praise, and you don’t need the friend who you feel competitive toward or who might scold you.

As an aforementioned NYT article mentions, it may help to find a group based on an identity within your field (race, gender, sexual orientation, region, and so on). They’ll likely have commonalities, won’t require as much explanation from you, and can offer tips as to what’s worked for them in similar situations.

Bonus: being part of a group that identifies as a part of a profession gives you a little sense of verification. (For instance, I joined an online women’s writing group. Connecting with other writers helps me feel like a writer.) Find the person or community that you trust.

Step 4. Honor your integrity and do the dang thing.

Michelle Obama said she fought her impostor syndrome the way she knew how: hard work.

Worried you can’t make this presentation, do well in this promotion, parent your child well, make a painting as good as the last?

Then it’s time to begin.

Obama said: “Whenever I doubted myself, I thought, let me put my head down and do the work. I would let my work speak for itself.”

One way to prove to yourself you can do something is to do it.

Emmy winner Amy Poehler also takes this approach. In writing her best-selling memoir Yes, Please she admits she too has heard the voice that says “youaredumbandyouwillneverfinishandnoonecaresanditistimeyoustop.”

How did she combat it? She sat down and did it. Poehler says, “The doing is the thing. The talking and worrying and thinking is not the thing.”

Step 5. Celebrate your gifts.

Impostor syndrome seems akin to what Brown calls “foreboding joy,” the sense that any time something good happens, you’re waiting for the other waiting for the other shoe to drop. The antidote, she says, is gratitude.

You can’t experience joy or accept your gifts without it.

A friend reminded me recently that the data shows we just have to express gratitude, even if we don’t feel it yet. (Thanks, Jeanette!)

Write a list you’re grateful for in your planner or make a “successes” label in your email or file on your computer. When you feel impostor syndrome creeping in, read your success file. You’ll thank yourself. (Har har.)


Impostor syndrome may be a constant companion. The trick is to recognize it, confide in a friend, do your work, and celebrate your successes.

Still wondering if you’re good enough?

That needn’t stop you.

As Poehler says, “Great people do things before they’re ready. They do things before they know they can do it.”

(FWIW, I struggled mightily with impostor syndrome before pressing publish on this very post and have before, too.)


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“Take the 🦆ing donuts,” or the Womanly Art of Becoming a DONUT PERSON

In high school, I worked at an unimaginably greasy spoon, The Donut Kastle, with my friend Cassie, and it remains one of my favorite ever jobs. We sold donuts, talked to regulars and fielded their (regular) complaints, cleaned (inasmuch as that was possible), glazed and dipped donuts, rolled out donuts, restocked donuts, listened to Death Cab for Cutie and the Jayhawks, and once, when we ran out of glazed and told our boss, heard our boss say, “If I make more, they’ll just sell out again.” So he didn’t.

Photo by Beth Truax (Armstrong) for the Manual High School yearbook. From the story: "Senior Lindsey Alexander mixes a chocolate glaze for her donut creations. Mixing glaze was just one of her many responsibilities at the Donut Kastle. 'The most fun I have is making the weekly donut burger, even though nobody has ever bought it,' Alexander said."
Photo by Beth Truax (now Armstrong) for the Manual High School yearbook | From the accompanying story: “Senior Lindsey Alexander mixes a chocolate glaze for her donut creations. Mixing glaze was just one of her many responsibilities at the Donut Kastle. ‘The most fun I have is making the weekly donut burger, even though nobody has ever bought it,’ Alexander said.”

I ate a lot of donuts. And whatever extras were left at the end of the shift, we were welcome to—so I brought them to theater practices and my then-boyfriend and my friends who didn’t wake up early enough to visit me on my shift. (Our boss took the rest to the homeless, because he may have been a god-awful businessman, but he was an excellent baker and a good person.) The tip money was negligible, and several weekends, Cassie and I spent it buying cheesy tots and slushies at the Sonic next-door.

Before a redesign, we also received the best shirts ever. Despite the pit stains only a teenager in a hell kitchen could create, I still have mine and wear it with no small amount of pride: “I AM A DONUT PERSON” it proclaims, rightly, above a stick figure drawing of donuts wearing crowns and capes on a stick figure castle.

Even after having to give up gluten (shudder), I remain a donut person. (Finding a gluten-free blueberry donut is what led me to work at a bakery in Knoxville. I follow the donuts.)

In a discussion of judgment of how artists make their money or pay for their art in Amanda Palmer’s book The Art of Asking, Palmer brings up Henry David Thoreau. She notes that some people call Thoreau a poser—he isn’t a true man of the wild; he got land from a friend, was close to town, had regular dinners with his friend Ralph Waldo Emerson, and every Sunday, had the audacity to accept baked goods from his mom and sister, including the occasional unforgivable, totally decadent donut. This seems like the kind of gossip that floats along in art school (“She’s only able to do that because her spouse supports her/Her mom has a trust fund/She knows someone/That opportunity was only open to [insert often racist comment here]” and so on), typically out of envy, to negate someone’s work by saying they didn’t do it all on her own.

But who among us has done it all on her own?

Palmer talks about DIY versus “maximal DIY,” saying true DIY is doing truly everything on your own—no help, no donations, no phone calls, please. True DIY, she says, requires ingenuity. “Maximal DIY,” however, is asking for help and accepting it. She argues this requires ingenuity (knowing how to ask and what to ask for, plus balancing confidence with gratitude) and trust. (You’re not totally in control. You’re dependent on other people.)

Maximalist DIY-ers take the donuts.

Palmer’s point? If Thoreau had been saving to buy land, hunting for food, making meals from scratch, and starving, chances are he wouldn’t have been writing Walden … or anything else for that matter. Whether Thoreau fails some sort of grit test because he ate some donuts and went into town, he still wrote one of the important pieces of American literature of the 19th century.

If someone offers you donuts, in the words of Palmer: “Take the f*cking donuts.” If you can afford to take time off to write your novel, take it. If your friend offers to give you studio space to record your album, take it. If a pal Venmos you money for gas for your tour or for refills of paints, say thank you, and take it.

For a long time, I’ve tried to be a true DIY-er, which, frankly, is a path I respect but, for me, has been a lonely road. That changed with the publication of my book, which depended on an excellent designer, a fabulous editor, and a publisher I would work with again without question. It continued to change as I asked friends if they’d help me with my book tour—and, remarkably, they did, offering spaces to read, audiences to read to, classes to teach, couches and air mattresses and once a real bed to sleep on, their company when I was passing through, meals, interviews, sharing reviews of my book—you name it.

Maximal DIY is the way to go, IMO. And I did not come by that opinion easily. (Us hard-heads never do, unless we are bullshitting in the middle of a debate over drinks.)

There’s no glory in refusing a donut. Or in refusing gifts, which I tried to do several times in the publication process for my book Rodeo in Reverse.

I’ve turned down some pretty good grub in the past because I didn’t have the humility to eat—avoided opportunities or publications for fear of nepotism, not accepting invitations because people are “just being nice” (uhhh, let people be nice to you?), been resentful of my husband because his career lets me have the (lower paying) career I want (and then not got much writing done because of handwringing over my lack of financial contribution), and I could go on.

But you know what? I love donuts. Life is hard enough without refusing its most perfect circular treats. I want a t-shirt with Thoreau’s face on it that says “Take the donuts” (because I am too afraid to wear anything with the F-word on it in public).

High-school me knew what was up: I AM A DONUT PERSON.

What donuts can you take to get some creative work done?

What’s your favorite donut shop where you live?

Let me know in the comments below, or email me at Lindsey@LDAlexander.com.

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