When Imposter Syndrome Whispers and Why I’m Learning to Listen Differently

I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on the quiet ways imposter syndrome shapes our inner world, how it creeps into moments of growth and change, just when we’re stepping into something new. It doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it whispers.

That whisper has been deafening for me recently, as I begin my PhD journey. The academic world is exciting but also brings a different kind of vulnerability: a space full of unfamiliar language, long titles, and brilliant minds. I’ve found myself wondering: Do I really belong here? Am I going to be found out?

I remember sitting in one of my first online seminars. It was a virtual room full of professors and doctors. I raised my virtual hand to contribute just a small reflection. But I quickly lowered it again, hoping no one had noticed. My mind raced: Your point isn’t clever enough. You’ll sound uneducated. Better not risk it.

That was imposter syndrome in full voice.

In my first week of the PhD, I walked into my supervisor’s office at a low point. I found myself venting, not quite naming what I felt but circling around it. That’s when someone I deeply respect gently said, “Kingsley, what you feel is imposter syndrome.”

He didn’t stop there. He continued: “I still struggle with it. It never really goes away. It just whispers.” (He has previously mentioned that he holds more than one PhD, which made his honesty even more impactful.)

There was such power in hearing that. Not because it offered a fix, but because it told me I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t alone. And maybe, I didn’t have to fight the feeling, understand it.

Around the same time, I was part of a meaningful online exchange with Mr Kratchmer, a coach and advocate whose openness stood out. He had asked a question about professional struggles, and I mentioned imposter syndrome. He reached out directly and asked, “How does that show up for you?”

That simple question opened one of the most honest and supportive conversations I’ve had online. I shared my self-doubt, and he offered something that stayed with me.

When imposter thoughts show up for him, especially when stepping into new roles, he says: “Oh, you again.”

There’s something quietly defiant about that. He doesn’t try to silence the voice; he just doesn’t let it lead. He reframes it, not as truth, but as a familiar visitor that no longer holds power.

He said, “We grow by naming it and then choosing how we respond.”

In the background of these moments is someone who knows me well, Mr Austin, who keeps me honest, grounded, and on my toes. When I was overthinking one evening, caught in the loop of “not good enough,” he said dryly but lovingly: “If you were actually an imposter, you wouldn’t be worrying about it this much.”

That truth made me laugh. It cut through the noise. And like so many truths, it stayed with me.

Imposter syndrome, or the impostor phenomenon, was first described by Clance and Imes (1978) to describe individuals who, despite their accomplishments, fear being exposed as a fraud. It’s not a clinical diagnosis, but its psychological impact is real.

A systematic review by Bravata et al. (2020) found that this experience is widespread in high-achieving professionals, especially in healthcare, academia, and helping roles. It’s linked with anxiety, burnout, and the feeling that success is undeserved.

A recent scoping review by Para et al. (2024) showed that while interventions are still developing, the most helpful responses include self-compassion, peer support, and naming the experience.

And a global study by Zhou and Wu (2025) confirmed how widespread these feelings are among health professionals. The phenomenon crosses roles, cultures, and gender. It doesn’t discriminate, it whispers.

I’m learning that sometimes someone else must name it for you. That moment with Dr Owuamalam gave me language and permission to acknowledge what I’d been circling.

Talking about it helps too, whether with a supervisor, a colleague, or in a quiet exchange online. Naming it aloud often breaks the hold it has on us.

I’m also trying to be kinder to the part that feels afraid. As Neff and Germer remind us, self-compassion isn’t indulgent; it’s a way forward.

And while I didn’t speak in that seminar, I might next time. And even if I don’t, I’ll meet that silence with understanding instead of shame.

Imposter syndrome doesn’t mean we’re frauds. It means we care. It means we’re stretching. And it means we’re human.

To Dr Owuamalam, thank you for naming what I couldn’t.
To Mr Kratchmer, thank you for your candour and quiet confidence.
To Mr Austin, thank you for always saying what I need to hear, even when I’m not ready.
And to anyone reading, if you’ve ever doubted whether you belong in the room: you do. Even when the voice whispers otherwise, you belong.

With warmth and respect.

Further Reading

Bravata, D. M., Watts, S. A., Keefer, A. L., Madhusudhan, D. K., Taylor, K. T., Clark, D. M., Nelson, R. S., Cokley, K. O., & Hagg, H. K. (2020). The impostor phenomenon: A systematic review of the literature. Journal of General Internal Medicine, 35(4), 1252–1275. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11606-019-05364-1

Neff, K. D., & Germer, C. K. (2018). The mindful self-compassion workbook: A proven way to accept yourself, build inner strength, and thrive. The Guilford Press.

Para, E. I., Jeon, C. Y., Madathil, S. A., & Rice, K. G. (2024). Addressing the impostor phenomenon: A scoping review of intervention research. Frontiers in Psychology, 15, Article 1360540. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2024.1360540

Zhou, Y., & Wu, X. (2025). Global prevalence of imposter syndrome in health service providers: A meta-analysis. BMC Psychology, 13, Article 210. https://doi.org/10.1186/s40359-025-02898-4