Not an Imposter—Just in Process

I’m Writing This From the Middle

I don’t have this figured out. That’s not a disclaimer—it’s the point. Lately, I’ve been feeling the tension in my writing. I want to share what I’ve learned, what I believe, what I’m still working through. But the moment I put something into words, there’s a temptation to make it sound polished. Complete. Certain.

And that’s exactly where the imposter voice shows up:
“Who are you to write this?”
“What if someone calls you out?”
“You’re not the person people might assume from this piece.”

That voice thrives when we feel pressure to perform knowledge. To project clarity we don’t fully possess. But here’s what I keep coming back to: You can’t be an imposter if you’re not pretending.

Imposter Syndrome Requires a Mask

Imposter syndrome isn’t just about self-doubt. It’s about discrepancy—the gap between what people think you are and what you fear you actually are.

But if you show up honestly, and you don’t claim to have it all figured out, there’s no mask to fall off.

You’re not an imposter—you’re in process. And being in process is not the same as being unqualified. It’s just being human.

Process Is an Invitation

Certainty closes things down. It ends the conversation before it begins. It puts distance between you and others. You’re the expert. They’re the audience. Done.

But process opens things up. It invites people in. It says, “Let’s think about this together.” It allows for connection, change, and deeper trust.

That’s the kind of writing—and leadership—I want to practice. Not performance, but presence. Not authority for its own sake, but honesty that makes room for growth.

Why I Write Anyway

I don’t write because I’ve arrived. I write because I’m paying attention. Because I need a place to explore what I’m learning, what I’m noticing, and where I’m still unsure.

Writing is part of my process. It helps me see. It helps me stay faithful to the questions I’m carrying, not just the ones I’ve answered.

And yes, some days I still feel that pull to make it sound smarter, cleaner, more resolved. But I’m trying to resist that. Not because I want to sound uncertain—but because I want to stay honest.

The Kind of Confidence I’m After

There’s a kind of confidence that comes from pretending. It’s loud. Polished. Defensive. Exhausting.

And there’s another kind—quieter, more generous—that comes from knowing your limits and showing up anyway.

That’s the kind of confidence I want. The kind that says: “I’m still learning, and I’m not hiding that.” The kind that makes space for others to do the same.