I’m entering my 28th year as an instructor for the Securities Industry Institute at the Wharton School of Business. It is the most prestigious professional development program in the securities industry, and every year I teach senior executives from major financial institutions.
And every year, I’m intimidated.
Despite having taught there for more than two decades, I still wonder whether I’m good enough to be in that classroom. I worry that someone will ask a question I should know the answer to and I won’t, or that someone will find a mistake in my material. Somewhere in the back of my mind is the thought that eventually they may figure out I’m not as talented as they think I am.
The evidence says otherwise.
They have invited me back year after year. I have consistently been one of their top-rated instructors. I have taught thousands of executives around the world and spent most of my professional life studying and teaching leadership and business excellence. If I looked at the situation objectively, I would have to conclude that I probably belong in that classroom.
Yet the feeling remains.
That experience is commonly called imposter syndrome: the persistent feeling that you may not be as capable as other people believe you are, despite evidence of your competence and accomplishments. It can affect highly successful people, and some of the qualities that contribute to their success may also contribute to their self-doubt.
High achievers tend to care deeply about the quality of their work. They hold themselves to demanding standards and are often acutely aware of what they don’t know. Those qualities can drive improvement, but they can also distort the way we evaluate ourselves. We discount accomplishments while giving far too much weight to anything that suggests we might not measure up.
I can see this clearly in my own behavior before I teach at Wharton.
I spend hours preparing for every session. I redo slides, conduct additional research, rethink examples, and stay up late the night before adding ideas I believe will make the workshop better. I work hard on everything I teach, but this is consistently one of the most demanding programs of my year.
Some of that is healthy. The nervousness pushes me to prepare and keeps me from becoming complacent. I respect the people in the room, and I want to give them everything I can. The problem comes when preparation stops being about excellence and starts being an attempt to eliminate every possibility of being exposed as imperfect. That is an impossible standard.
After all these years, people occasionally ask me questions I can’t answer.
When that happens, I simply say I don’t know. Nothing terrible happens. No one stands up and announces that they have finally discovered I’m a fraud. We move on.
Perhaps one of the most useful ways to deal with imposter syndrome is to look honestly at what you have accomplished, the responsibilities you have handled, the people who trust your judgment, and the value you have created. None of that means you know everything or that every doubt is unfounded. There will always be more to learn, and sometimes the doubt is telling you that you need to prepare, improve, or ask for help.
But uncertainty is not proof that you don’t belong.
I don’t expect to walk into Wharton this year completely free of doubt. I’ll put in the hours, continue refining the material, and do everything I can to be at the top of my game. There will probably still be a part of me wondering whether this is the year someone discovers I’m not quite as good as they thought.
Then I’ll walk into the classroom and do the best job I possibly can.
When it is over, I suspect I’ll have the same thought I’ve had many times before: Well, I guess that turned out okay.
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Dear John,
Your article “When Success Doesn’t Silence Self-Doubt” touched me more deeply than I expected. Outside of my marriage—the one place I feel truly known and accepted—I have spent much of my life carrying the quiet, persistent sense that I am an impostor. Reading your words about walking into that Wharton classroom year after year, still wondering if this will be the year they “find you out,” felt like someone had put language to something I’ve long felt but rarely named.
Thank you for writing with such honesty. It is a gift to see that even someone with your experience, reputation, and consistent excellence still wrestles with these doubts. Your reminder that uncertainty is not proof we don’t belong—and that the same traits that drive high achievement can also fuel self-doubt—has given me space to reflect with a little more compassion toward myself.
I especially appreciated your closing image: preparing thoroughly, walking in anyway, doing the best job you can, and later thinking, “Well, I guess that turned out okay.” That feels like a quiet, steady kind of courage.
I’ll leave you with a line that has stayed with me and seems to fit the spirit of what you wrote:
“The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are.”
— Joseph Campbell
Thank you again for sharing this so openly. It has helped me feel a little less alone in the doubt.
With appreciation,
Tom
Hi Tom, thank you for sharing something so personal and thoughtful. Your words about feeling truly known and accepted stood out to me. I’m glad John’s article gave you some space to extend that same compassion to yourself.
These honest conversations are an important part of John’s work with leaders and teams. If this is something you’d ever like to explore further, personally or with your organization, I’d be happy to connect and hear more about what would be helpful to you. contact@johnspence.com
Warm regards,