Carina Rampelt sat in the shadow of a bust of Margaret Thatcher and wondered whether she deserved to be there. It was fall of 2018. Rampelt was beginning her Master’s in English Literature program at the University of Oxford and although she excelled in her courses, her internal dialogue wouldn’t leave her alone: Are you sure you’re not a phony?

The fact that Thatcher herself, along with a myriad of powerful female politicians, writers, and researchers, had sat in the same hall sparked self-doubt. “At first, it didn’t seem like I belonged in those classes,” says Carina. “I wasn’t sure I’d be accepted into the program, to begin with.”

Fast forward a few years and Carina still experiences moments of uncertainty as a professional writer and content strategist for Find A Way Media. “There are times when I achieve a goal I set for myself, but then I find myself asking, Will people find out I’m faking it?” 

If you’re a writer or creative of any stripe, those two words—faking it—likely strike a sensitive nerve. But what are you supposed to do about it?

Creatives (especially writers) are taught to believe that success will fulfill us and make us leap for joy. But the sober reality is that success can trigger something quite different: fear. Fear that you’re brushing up against the limits of your talent; fear that whatever you’ve achieved is the byproduct of fortune or luck rather than your own doing.

Your internal dialogue raises questions like:

Do you have enough credibility to call yourself “a writer” or [insert profession]?

Who gave you permission to raise your rates?

Are you sure you deserve this recognition, this money, this career?

In 1978 two American psychologists, Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes, dubbed this phenomenon “the impostor syndrome.” They defined it as a feeling of “phoniness in people who believe that they are not intelligent, capable or creative despite evidence of high achievement” (emphasis mine). While such people “are highly motivated to achieve,” they simultaneously “live in fear of being ‘found out’ or exposed as frauds.” 

Impostor syndrome might sound entirely irrational, especially if you haven’t experienced it. But as professional freelance designer Clarissa Kupfer suggests, it’s a natural and essential component of career growth.

“Ironically, people who don’t go through impostor syndrome might not excel as much as they’d like to,” she says. “Being hyper-self-aware can be troubling at times, but if you press forward and see it through, you become resilient and reach your potential.”

Clarissa recalls being thrown into the fire early at a corporate, global PR firm where she was the only graphic designer on her team … at 21 years old. 

Research on impostor syndrome is sparse. You won’t find it mentioned in any psychiatric textbooks or medical journals. But as Carina, Clarissa, and countless other creatives can attest, it’s as real as any other condition. 

What, then, precipitates it? 

Carina (an Oxford graduate) and Clarissa (who’s had a meteoric 10-year career) are as far from phony as you can get. And yet, neither admits their level of confidence is congruent with their skill level. There appears to be a permanent discrepancy between who they are and who they aspire to be, which manifests itself as the impostor syndrome.

“I hold myself to a high standard, but at times that standard is impossible to achieve,” says Carina. “That mindset can paralyze you because you feel as if you’ll never be good enough.”

New York Times columnist and “Sketch Guy” Carl Richards suggests that feeling like a phony could be the result of too much humility; we downplay our talent because we incessantly question whether what we’re doing is actually valuable.

“[Humility] is healthy, but it can easily cross the line into paralyzing fear,” says Richards. “We often hesitate to believe that what’s natural, maybe even easy for us, can offer any value to the world. In fact, the very act of being really good at something can lead us to discount its value.”

Clarissa provides a different vantage point from which to view impostor syndrome, one that’s particularly relevant for up-and-comers.

Clarissa’s comment echoes the legendary NPR host Ira Glass who points out that many creatives experience a “taste gap:”

“For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit … We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have … And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know it’s normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work.”

If you think impostor syndrome is limited to the purview of nascent freelancers and entry-level employees, think again. The American author and poet Maya Angelou, who racked up three Grammys along with nominations for the Pulitzer Prize and a Tony Award, disclosed her insecurity about her own success: “I have written 11 books, but each time I think, ‘Uh oh, they’re going to find out now. I’ve run a game on everybody, and they’re going to find me out.’”

Speaking of Maya Angelou, we must ask ourselves: Is impostor syndrome more prevalent among women than men? There is no data to inform that question, but Carina and Clarissa both agree that impostor syndrome intensifies gender discrepancies that are already present in the workforce.

“As a woman, it can be more difficult to convince people your work is valuable,” says Clarissa. “I used to hesitate when a client questioned my rates, but over time I developed the confidence not to budge.”

“There’s enough pressure already for women to dial back their assertiveness,” says Carina, “If you’re stuck in a cycle of negative self-talk, the fight to get your opinion across is going to be harder and harder.”

We can theorize about the origins and effects of impostor syndrome until we’re blue in the face (or in this case, fingertips). But the only thing that matters—and the purpose of this article—is deciding how we respond.

If you’re feeling insecure about your career, you might be tempted to pick up a copy of You Are a Badass to inflate your ego. But the problem with many of these sugar-coated self-help books is that they suppress doubt. Carina takes the opposite approach: she works with it.

“Whenever I feel impostor syndrome creeping in, I pause and remind myself that I’m not alone in feeling this way,” she says. “Those people I feel intimidated by are struggling, worrying, and staring at blank cursors just as much as I am. And if they’re overtly cocky, they’re probably just putting on a front.”

Speaking of putting on fronts, there’s an omnipresent force with the potential to amplify impostor syndrome: social media. How is that to be dealt with?

“Social media isn’t inherently bad, it’s how you use it that matters,” says Clarissa. “I follow a lot of other designers on Instagram, but it took some soul searching to convince myself that I don’t need to be everything for everybody. You have to draw the line between inspiration and jealousy on social media and be able to say, ‘I’m impressed, but I don’t need to do that.’”

The more you fight impostor syndrome, the more you empower it. Reassuring yourself that you’re not an impostor can, ironically, intensify the feeling. Perhaps the key, then, to coping isn’t reminding yourself of your own greatness, but recognizing that the vast majority—if not everyone—is also self-conscious about their work. 

So go ahead, sit with those uneasy feelings of inferiority. Don’t resist it. Just remember that everyone else feels it too. Standing naked in a crowd of people isn’t embarrassing if everyone else is naked too.

Now, let’s get back to work.