Imposter Syndrome or Waiting for Permission?

I ran into a friend in the Trader Joe's parking lot yesterday. She starts a new job this week and she tells me she's nervous.

"Why?"

"Because I feel like a fraud. Like... can I really do this job?"

The job she was recruited for. The job she was hired to do because she can do it, and because the organization needs exactly what she has.

Imposter syndrome is real gobbledygook.

So many of the women I work with are dealing with some version of this for things they are already doing. Leading teams, running businesses, managing major projects, being the person everyone turns to. And underneath all of that competence is the question running In your mind: who am I to do this?  -or- when are they going to find out I'm a fraud? That mind is a terrible place to live.

Sometimes it's a different question entirely: "Am I allowed to do this? Am I allowed to want this?"

Babe. Who are you asking?

And sometimes, fun little combo platter, it's both at once.

Imposter syndrome asks whether you belong. Permission-seeking asks whether you're allowed.

Why Isn't Evidence Enough to Fix Imposter Syndrome?

Psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes first named the "impostor phenomenon" in 1978, studying accomplished women who couldn't internalize their own success. These women had evidence - degrees, recognition, awards - and still credited it to luck, timing, or just working harder than everyone else.

Translation: yes, I did it. That doesn't mean I'm actually good at it.

Still true today. A 2020 KPMG study of 750 executive women found 75% had experienced imposter syndrome at some point in their careers. Receipts, and the doubt still didn't leave.

That's the trap. You can keep collecting evidence and still refuse to bank it. Another promotion, another client, another person telling you you're good at this, and your brain says, "sure, but next time might be the time they figure me out."

Can Imposter Syndrome Look Like Overachieving Instead of Self-Doubt?

Yes. There's a version of this that doesn't look like hiding in the corner. It looks like overachieving.

You say yes to everything. You prepare twice as much as necessary. You make it airtight so no one could possibly question whether you belong.

From the outside, it looks like ambition. On the inside, you're still trying to outrun the doubt.

Prove it, then prove it again.

What's the Difference Between Imposter Syndrome and Permission-Seeking?

Sometimes you already know you're capable. You're just waiting for someone else to say go.

That's permission-seeking. Think about what a permission slip actually is — someone with authority signs off, and then you're allowed to occupy the space.

Imposter syndrome asks: who am I to do this? Permission-seeking asks: who is going to tell me I can?

Okay...So What Do You Actually Do About It?

Fair question. Naming the problem doesn't move you an inch if you close the tab right after.

First, figure out which one you're actually dealing with. If it's imposter syndrome, more evidence isn't going to fix it — you've already proven this to yourself a hundred times, and your brain still isn't buying it. What you need is to catch the thought in real time ("who am I to do this") and argue back with something true and specific: I was hired for this. I've done hard versions of this before. This is not evidence of fraud; this is Tuesday.

If it's permission-seeking, ask a sharper question. Finish the sentence: I am waiting for permission to __________. Then name exactly whose permission you think you need. Your boss? Your husband? The internet? A panel of women who supposedly have it more together than you?

Now answer: does that person have real authority over this decision, or have you just been handing it to them? Sometimes the answer is yes — a licensing board, a boss who controls the promotion, those are real. But a lot of the time, the authority quietly transferred to you a while ago, and nobody sent the memo. You're the one who gets to decide.

And sometimes what you need permission for isn't to start — it's to stop. If you're white-knuckling toward a goal and can't remember the last time it felt like yours, ask why you actually want it. Sometimes the honest answer is: you don't, not really. Someone else did, and you inherited it. You're allowed to resign from goals you never consciously chose.

None of this requires certainty. Giving yourself permission isn't the same as knowing it'll work out; it's deciding you trust yourself enough to move without that guarantee.