The Space Between Who You Are and Who You Are Becoming

I didn’t know I was shrinking.

Not at first.

I thought I was being humble.

Thought I was being “realistic.”

Thought it was smart to second-guess my instincts and wait until I was fully ready.

But let’s be honest—I wasn’t waiting for readiness. I was waiting for permission.

And no one ever tells you this—but imposter syndrome doesn’t sound like fear.

It sounds like caution.

Like strategy.

Like, “Maybe I should tweak this one more time.”

It’s not loud.

It’s a whisper.

And by the time you hear it,

it’s already wrapped around your voice,

tight enough to sound like truth.

Mine started like this:

“Who do you think you are?”

“Why would anyone care?”

“What if you’re wrong, and they all see it?”

Which sounds like doubt.

I used to think feeling like a fraud meant I wasn’t ready.

Now I know it means I’ve outgrown the version of me that never took risks.

Turns out, imposter syndrome is the sign you’re finally stepping into something real.

Because people who stay small

never feel like frauds.

They never do anything worth doubting.

But back then, I didn’t know that.

Back then, I responded the only way I knew how:

I put on masks.

One mask was called “Perfection.”

If I could get it right enough, polished enough—

maybe no one would notice how scared I was.

The other mask? “Pretending.”

Fake the confidence.

Say the right thing.

Look the part.

Swallow the fear.

Smile when you feel hollow.

Nod when you want to disappear.

It worked.

Sort of.

Until it didn’t.

Because pretending is exhausting.

And perfection is a cage with velvet walls.

Here’s what no one tells you:

The doubt doesn’t mean you’re failing.

It means you’re crossing a threshold.

You are no longer who you were—

but not yet who you’re becoming.

And that in-between?

That’s where the fraud-feeling festers.

Not because it’s true.

But because it’s unfamiliar.

Adler once said,

“The feeling of inferiority is not a disease. It’s a stimulus to growth.”

Which makes sense, because this version of me—the one who speaks now—was born from that ache.

That tight, breathless moment

where I almost said no to something

that would change everything.

All because I didn’t feel “qualified," or "adequate."

What changed?

I stopped asking,

“Am I good enough?”

And started asking,

“What if this is just new?”

I stopped chasing confidence,

and started choosing curiosity.

I stopped proving,

and started improving.

Because every time I felt like I wasn’t ready—

I wasn’t.

I wasn't ready for perfection.

But I was ready for growth.

So here’s the truth I wish I’d known sooner:

Imposter syndrome doesn’t mean you’re a fraud.

It means you’re not faking it anymore.

You’re moving.

You’re learning.

You’re expanding into the version of you

that your old self couldn’t even imagine.

You don’t need to be flawless.

You don’t need to be fearless.

You just need to keep showing up

—even when the voice in your head says you shouldn’t.

That voice is not your enemy.

It’s just the echo of every version of you

that didn’t know how powerful you could be.

Yet.