The Imposter and The Obnoxious Foe
There’s a particular kind of self-doubt that shows up when I start something new at this stage in my life. I expect it to feel exciting, like stepping into unfamiliar territory with excellent GPS and a lifetime of experience behind me. So, in my mind, I should be able to cruise into the new endeavor I’ve trained for with the utmost confidence. It occurred to me about a week ago that being competent for many years doesn’t inoculate me against fear and doubt; it just makes the arrival more surprising and changes the way fear shows up.
When I was younger, I never feared success. Perhaps it was because I started my career as a hairstylist so early, having grown up around the industry, and never seriously considering the possibility of failure. Without that awareness, there was little room for the kind of negative brain chatter that fuels self-doubt. I built my identity around my competence in business, technical skills, creativity, and client satisfaction to such a degree that I rarely stopped to think about what it actually takes to be successful.
So, as I skipped along my familiar, confidence-filled path, I eventually arrived at a fork in the road. The path to the left was clearly marked: Continue Down Known Road. The one to the right might as well have read: Pandemic- Pull The Rug Out From Under Yourself and Stumble Across Uncertain Ground.
Can you guess which path I chose? If you guessed the stumbling one, you win best guesser. I chose the one cluttered with too many directional signs, new technological skill sets to master, and an acute awareness of time, visibility, and reinvention. The vulnerability of it all was so palpable, it felt dizzying.
Almost overnight, the quiet hum in my mind grew louder. The brain chatter shifted from a hushed voice of encouragement and support to skeptical, then from skeptical to harsh. It began whispering, and sometimes shouting, phrases like, “You’re not good enough,” “You have no idea what you are doing,” “You’re not smart enough,” “You should quit before you embarrass yourself.” Before I fully realized it, the imposter became my obnoxious foe with a microphone.
The real self-doubt set in after finishing school. I had the knowledge, the degrees, the certifications, and the accolades, yet very little direct experience, which suddenly made me feel frustrated and invisible in the workforce. Not one company would take a chance on me, leaving me to ponder what experience really means and realizing what the imposter’s amplified voice conveniently ignored: I was not starting from nothing.
I am bringing decades of emotional intelligence, pattern recognition, and hard-earned clarity about my core values into this new chapter. Emotional intelligence has taught me how to regulate fear without letting it dictate my decisions. When my mind dreamed up catastrophic questions like “What if this goes wrong,” I practiced reframing it with “ What if everything goes according to plan?” or “What if the plan turns out even better than expected?”
Pattern recognition allows me to see that this surge of doubt is not a prophecy but a predictable and natural response to growth. Let me say this clearly: all-encompassing doubt is what often accompanies expansion, reinvention, and the decision to bet on yourself. It's not incapability or misalignment; it’s stretching beyond boundaries.
I also recognize that my core values of integrity, justice, resilience, and service could serve as anchors whenever my confidence wavers. These capacities didn’t disappear simply because I chose unfamiliar terrain; they came with me. I may be new to the role of life coach, but I’m not new to myself. This realization quieted my overbearing brain enemy long enough for me to remember who I am and what I am capable of becoming.
Digging down deeply to reach the core of who I am feels a bit like backing up in my first car, a Toyota Celica with a manual transmission. At first, I struggled to see clearly and couldn’t keep the car in a straight line. As I continued to reverse slowly and intentionally, the lines came into focus. I began to trust my knowledge, my skill, and the quiet steadiness that comes from experience. Eventually, I realized that to move forward with confidence sometimes requires you to back up long enough to recalibrate.
Living with vulnerability and trusting my intuition works much the same way for me. When I pause and return to my center, the noise in my head softens. The doubts do not disappear entirely, but they lose their urgency. I’m reminded that growth asks for participation, not perfection. That effort matters more than ego, and forward motion matters more than hesitation.
Beginning again in midlife is not a step backward but a deepening. The imposter may still speak, but I no longer confuse its volume with truth. I know who I am, I know what I value, and that’s enough to keep me moving.
Go away, imposter; you are not needed right now.
