This past May, I attended a conference where one of my best friends from high school interviewed the keynote speaker, a multi-award-winning Emmy and Peabody recipient, on stage for half an hour. Watching her, I could barely keep a straight face. Later, over coffee, she told me she hadn’t dared look my way during the interview, afraid she’d burst out laughing. She looked me dead in the eye and said, “You know the dumbest parts of me.” She was right. We’d been there for each other through every awkward teenage decision and cringe-worthy moment.
My friend is incredibly accomplished professionally but having someone who’s known her since kindergarten in an audience of a thousand people made her feel less like a seasoned professional and more like a 16-year-old playing Dance Dance Revolution. Her comment stuck with me: “You know the dumbest parts of me.” Maybe that’s what fuels Imposter Syndrome—the awareness of those parts of ourselves we’d rather forget. Despite our success, we sometimes wonder how we got a seat at the table or became respected in our industry. After all, we know about those times when dinner was turkey straight out of the deli bag with pickles from the jar.
Keeping those “dumbest parts” hidden can cause a disconnect between who we are and who people perceive us to be. We know our flaws, quirks, and lazy dinners, but others only see professional achievements and a polished image. That’s why, when someone recognizes our work, gives us an award, or asks us to lead, it can feel like they’re talking about a stranger.
Those awkward, unrefined parts are real, too. For better or worse, they’re what make us relatable. Think about celebrities we connect with most—aren’t they the ones who embrace their quirks and imperfections? Imagine Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour without her “Errors Tour” moments, like swallowing bugs, stage malfunctions, or yelling “Hey, stop!” Perfection isn’t nearly as compelling as authenticity. We need to reclaim the “dumbest parts” of ourselves, and instead of letting them fuel imposter syndrome, see them as proof of our growth, resilience, and realness.
On paper, I know I’m an adult. If nothing else, my birthdate gives it away. I’m making big decisions, managing projects, sitting on nonprofit boards, even mentoring others. But inside, that teenage self still lingers—the one who once got not one but two cars stuck in a flooded ditch because I thought I could make it through, and who was suspended from college for a semester for skipping class and then pretended to my family that I was still enrolled.
It’s surreal to think that people now look to me for ideas and opinions when, half the time, I’m wondering if they’d still respect me if they knew I don’t separate my laundry or that I have a stack of unopened “important” mail.
The key to feeling like we belong—whether in a boardroom or on a stage—isn’t about hiding our quirks and “dumbest parts” but about accepting them. We carry all those past versions of ourselves with us, and each one has taught us something valuable. Those cringe-worthy moments remind us to stay grounded, to have empathy, and to never take ourselves too seriously.
In the end, feeling like an imposter might just mean we’re human. It reminds us that we don’t have to feel like adults to contribute something meaningful. We’re here not because we’ve perfected every part of ourselves. We’re here because we keep showing up, willing to do the work even when we don’t feel fully ready. Our insecurities and quirks don’t disqualify us from the table; they make us a little more whole and a lot more relatable. The truth is the real imposters are the ones who pretend they never feel that tension or those doubts.
-Alexandra McClain, Director of Fundraising for Myers-Davis Life Coaching
To learn more about imposter syndrome, check out this informative article: Imposter Syndrome: The Five Types, How to Deal With It
To read other inspiring content, please check out our Blog here: Blog – Myers-Davis Life Coaching
