Imposter Syndrome: The Gremlin With a Megaphone

Read time: 6–8 minutes.

Mood: “I’m fine” (said through gritted teeth).

Quick note before we begin...

If you read Post #1 and thought “oh wow, it’s me,” here’s your next comforting truth:

Imposter syndrome doesn’t mean you’re a fraud.
It means you’re in a new room.

If imposter syndrome is eating your confidence alive and you want support while you rebuild + rebuild your confidence, The Reset Circle is your place.


If you want practical profitability while you build for stability, that’s BBS.

Right. Let’s talk about the gremlin...

The room where my brain tried to eject me

The first time I decided to become a business start-up mentor, I did what any sensible woman does when she’s about to do something new and mildly terrifying:

I joined a group training.

It was mostly women.

And not just “women.”

Women-women.

The kind who look like they belong on Real Housewives of Somewhere Expensive.

Hair done.

Nails done.

Face done.

Life apparently done.

They had partners. They had “support.” They were making £5k months minimum like it was a normal Tuesday.

They owned their homes.

They spoke in confident sentences that didn’t end with “…I think?” or “sorry, ignore me.”

They looked like they had their shit together.

And I walked in…

Single mum.

Council house with lots of repairs needed.

Bank balance held together with prayer and denial.

I was budgeting by counting how many dino nuggies were in a pack like I was doing forensic accounting.

And I genuinely couldn’t remember if I’d brushed my hair that morning.

Not in a cute “messy bun” way. In a “did I even acknowledge my own head today?” way.

My brain took one look around and went:

“You’ll set this on fire somehow… you always do.”

Then the imposter gremlin grabbed its megaphone and added:

Who do you think you are?

I didn’t feel like a mentor-in-training.

I felt like a feral raccoon who’d wandered into a brunch.

Here’s the no-BS truth: imposter syndrome isn’t proof you’re failing

Imposter syndrome usually shows up when you’re growing.

Not when you’re hiding.
Not when you’re playing small.
Not when you’re doing nothing.

It shows up when you do something brave—because your brain has one job:

Keep you alive.

And your brain is painfully old-fashioned about how it does that.

It treats:

  • being seen

  • being judged

  • being new

  • charging more

  • taking responsibility

…like you’re about to be eaten by a bear.

So it hits the panic button and serves up the fastest story it can find:

“You don’t belong.”
“You’re not qualified.”
“They’re going to find out.”
“Better leave before you get rejected.”

That story feels like truth because fear is loud and confident.

Reality is quieter. Reality sounds like:

“You’re in a new room.”
“You’re comparing your behind-the-scenes to their best angles.”
“You’re tired.”
“You’re carrying more pressure than they can see.”
“Of course this feels intense.”

But your brain doesn’t say that.

Your brain says:

ABORT MISSION.

The comparison trap: I didn’t compare skills, I compared lives

In that room, I wasn’t comparing skills to skills.

I was comparing my entire life to their best angles.

I compared:

  • their polish to my chaos

  • their stability to my survival mode

  • their resources to my “count the nuggets” budgeting

  • their confidence to my “sorry for existing” instincts

And because they looked more put-together, my brain decided they were more legitimate.

This is the sneakiest part of imposter syndrome:

It doesn’t just doubt your ability.

It doubts your right to be there.

And women get this hard because we’re trained—quietly, constantly—that we must be:

  • perfect before we lead

  • tidy before we teach

  • certain before we speak

But leadership doesn’t require a perfect life.

It requires honesty, skill, and a willingness to help.

And you can have all of that… while still feeling like a fraud in a room full of “together.”

Why it’s louder when you don’t have a safety net

Let’s say the quiet bit out loud:

Imposter syndrome is louder when getting it wrong feels more dangerous.

If you’ve got a partner, family money, a cushion, and a “worst case I’ll be fine” safety net?

Risk can feel like a game.

If you’re a single mum in a council house that needs repairs and you’re building without a cushion?

Risk feels like standing on the edge of a cliff.

So your brain doesn’t treat “putting yourself out there” as personal development.

It treats it as threat.

Which means you’re not “too sensitive.”
You’re not “dramatic.”


You’re carrying more pressure and your nervous system knows it.

That’s not weakness.

That’s context.

The reset: confidence isn’t a feeling — it’s evidence.

Here’s the bit that changes everything:

Confidence isn’t something you wait for.

Confidence is evidence.

So we’re not doing “just believe in yourself.”

We’re doing receipts.

Do this next (imposter syndrome tools that actually work)

1) The Evidence List (Not Feelings List)

Get a page and title it:

Proof I’m not making this up

Write 10 things you’ve done that show competence.

Rules:

  • tiny counts

  • messy counts

  • “I did it scared” counts

Examples:

  • I helped someone start.

  • I solved a real problem.

  • I followed through.

  • I had a hard conversation.

  • I made a sale.

  • I posted even when I wanted to hide.

  • I learned something and used it.

If your brain says “that doesn’t count,” write it down anyway.

That’s literally the gremlin with the megaphone.

2) Two-Lane Thinking:

Fear Story vs Facts

Draw a line down the page.

Lane 1: Fear story
Write what your brain is saying. No censoring.

Lane 2: Objective facts
Only what’s verifiably true.

Example:
Fear story: “Everyone here is miles ahead. I’m embarrassing myself.”
Facts: “I’m new to this room. I have relevant experience. I’m here to learn. Nobody has told me I don’t belong.”

This won’t delete fear.

It stops fear being the only voice with a microphone.

3) The Best Friend Test

Write the thought:

“I’m not qualified.”

Now answer:

If my best friend said this about herself, what would I say back?

Write the response like you actually like her.

Because you do.

Then read it back to yourself like it’s a rule, not a suggestion.

4) The shame boundary

This one is a game-changer:

I’m allowed to act scared.
I’m not allowed to act ashamed.

Scared = normal. Growth. Human.

Ashamed = shrinking, hiding, undercharging, over-apologising, self-sabotage.

Straight into the fuck-it bucket with that.

So when you feel yourself about to do a shame behaviour—like deleting your post, staying silent, discounting your work, saying “sorry I’m probably wrong”—pause.

Pick one tiny “not ashamed” action instead.

5) The One Brave Move

Pick one small move that proves you belong in the room.

Not ten. One.

Examples:

  • ask one question

  • share one useful insight

  • introduce yourself without apologising

  • post without rewriting it twelve times

Tiny proof beats big promises.

Journaling prompts (IYKYK)

  • The room where I feel like I don’t belong is…

  • I compare my ____ to their ____ and it makes me feel…

  • If I believed I was allowed to be here, I would…

  • Proof I’m ignoring that I’m capable is…

  • The one brave move I can make this week is…

If you only do one thing…

Write the Evidence List.

Your brain can’t build confidence out of vibes.

It needs receipts.

Free download

If you want this as a printable (so you don’t have to “remember it later” and then never do it), Join The Reset Circle (free) to access:


“Proof I’m Not Making This Up: The Evidence Builder Worksheet”

Next post in the series

Hustle Culture Is a Pyramid Scheme With Better Fonts - why “just do more” isn’t a strategy, it’s a fast track into overwhelm.