I remember sitting in a massive conference room at the Shaw Centre in Ottawa almost seven years ago, sweating through my jacket and trying to slow my breathing. This was Canada in the fall, so the temperature wasn’t the problem. I’m a big dude and sweating is not abnormal, but this was different. My chest felt tight. My thoughts were racing. I wasn’t anxious about public speaking or worried about the quality of my research presentation. I was overwhelmed by one persistent thought.
How did a kid from Tampa with a GED end up here?
I was attending the International Leadership Association’s Annual Global Conference. In the room were former prime ministers of Canada, the Governor-General, esteemed leaders, and scholars whose work I had cited for years. I had published, taught, and spoken publicly more times than I could count. And still, in that moment, I felt like a fraud.
If you’ve ever walked into a room and quietly wondered whether someone made a mistake letting you in, you’re not alone.
What we often call imposter “syndrome” isn’t a clinical diagnosis listed in the DSM-5 or ICD-11, but it is a very real experience. It shows up as self-doubt that refuses to listen to evidence. It whispers that your success is accidental or undeserved. It tells you that eventually someone will figure you out. Isn’t that our greatest fear?
Being exposed? Found out?
Ironically, according to my research, the imposter phenomenon often affects high EQ people who are capable and prepared.
That tension has followed me through much of my leadership journey. Even now, I can still feel it surface in unfamiliar spaces. Over time, I’ve learned that overcoming imposter thinking isn’t about silencing doubt completely. It’s about responding to it with humility and truth.
The first response is to anchor yourself in reality, not emotion.
There have been seasons when I felt deeply insecure about my teaching or leadership, only to be reminded by someone else that opportunity itself is data. I had to learn that people keep inviting me because I bring something of value. I earned the degree for a reason. I’ve been entrusted with responsibility for a reason.
And so have you.
I’ve learned to keep tangible reminders close (notes, pictures, etc.). Not as trophies, but as reference points. When doubt starts to speak louder than truth, evidence helps restore perspective. Imposter thinking thrives in isolation. Reality disrupts it.
The second response is to stop fighting someone else’s fight.
Comparison is the imposter phenomenon’s favorite fuel. We compare our inner self with someone’s outer projections. We measure our current season against someone else’s peak capacity. So foolish.
I see this clearly in my relationship with Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. I love the art, but I don’t structure my life around it. I train when I can. Comparing myself to people who are on the mat four or five times a week would be foolish. Yet rank and external expectations create pressure to perform according to someone else’s standard.
Leadership works the same way. Different seasons require different forms of faithfulness. If you define success by expectations that don’t match your season of life, imposter thinking will always win. The goal isn’t to outperform others. It’s to compete with yourself. It’s to steward your own calling well. As my Pastor Chris Fletcher says, “Focus on gains, not gaps.”
The third response is to learn the difference between humility and selling yourself short.
I believe that most leaders don’t want to be arrogant. The danger is swinging so far away from pride that we end up denying our God-given strengths. True humility isn’t pretending you have nothing to offer. True humility is knowing what you bring, where your limits are, and giving God the glory through it all.
Early in leadership, I confused humility with downplaying my strengths. I used to operate in “stealth mode”. Over time, I learned that pretending you have nothing to offer doesn’t serve anyone. Healthy leadership requires both clarity and honesty. You don’t have to exaggerate your strengths or ignore your limits. You simply have to tell the truth about both.
As I paced the halls of the Shaw Centre that day in Ottawa, second-guessing my notes and rehearsing my presentation one more time, a quieter voice cut through the noise. It didn’t shout. It didn’t flatter. It reminded me that a group of scholarly peers chose my presentation for inclusion at the conference. God provided the resources for my wife and I to travel from Tennessee to Ontario. That quiet voice simply reminded me that I was there for a reason. Thank you, Holy Spirit!
I gave the presentation. It went well. As I walked toward the back of the room afterward, someone offered me a job on the spot at another university! I declined, of course, but the moment stayed with me. Not because of the job offer, but because of the reminder.
Belonging isn’t settled by how confident you feel in the moment, but by whether you’ve shown up and done the work you were called to do.
If you’re feeling like an imposter right now, hear this clearly. Doubt does not mean you don’t belong. Often, it means you care deeply about doing the work well. The task isn’t to eliminate doubt entirely, but to refuse to let it define you.
When that voice whispers, “You don’t belong here,” respond with the truth. You prepared. You learned. You grew. You showed up. You are still learning, and that’s not a weakness. It’s part of the calling.
Leadership is not about never feeling unsure. It’s about continuing to learn and lead anyway.
Dr. Carlo A. Serrano, President