From "Imposter Syndrome" to "Imposter Narratives": Why Language Matters

I stopped using the term "imposter syndrome" for myself.

That feeling of not belonging? The constant second-guessing? The fear of being "found out"? We've been taught to label it "imposter syndrome" – like it's some kind of personal pathology we need to overcome.

But here's the thing: When we call it a syndrome, we're buying into the idea that the problem lies within us. That if we just worked harder, networked better, or somehow "fixed" ourselves, these feelings would disappear.

What if we called them "imposter narratives" instead?

This isn't just semantic gymnastics. When we shift from "syndrome" to "narratives," we shift the focus from individual psychology to systemic stories. We start asking different questions:

• Who benefits from these narratives of inadequacy?
• What power structures do they protect?
• Whose voices do they silence?

Companies thrive on imposter narratives. They keep us compliant, productive, and eternally seeking validation from institutions that were often designed to exclude us.

Think about it: How many brilliant people do you know who dim their light because they've internalized these narratives? How many revolutionary ideas never make it to paper because someone believed they weren't "qualified enough" to challenge the status quo?

Here's what shifting from syndrome to narratives does:

• It acknowledges these feelings without pathologizing them
• It exposes the systemic roots of gatekeeping (especially in intellectual and “higher-up” circles)
• It gives us agency to write new stories

You're not experiencing a syndrome. You're wrestling with narratives that don’t necessarily belong to you, those you’ve picked up along the way or written long before you entered these spaces. Narratives that perhaps never imagined someone like you occupying these spaces.

The next time those familiar doubts creep in, ask yourself: Whose story am I telling? And more importantly – what story do I want to write instead?

Head up. Deep Breath. Time to put down the old scripts. Your narrative belongs to you.