I remember sitting in my first college lecture, looking around the room and thinking, “How did I get here?” Everyone else seemed confident, prepared, and like they belonged. I felt like I had somehow slipped through the cracks; an admissions mistake that hadn’t been caught yet.
That was my first real experience with imposter syndrome.
For me, imposter syndrome is that quiet but persistent voice in my head that tells me my accomplishments are luck, that I’m not as capable as people think I am, and that one day someone will “find out.” It doesn’t matter how many positions I hold, how high my GPA is, or how many internships I land. The voice still finds a way in, and that’s when I start to question everything.
It showed up in an unexpected way for me: guilt. There was a period when I genuinely felt guilty every time I went out with my friends. If I was laughing at dinner or taking a break on a random Tuesday night, a voice in my head would whisper, “You’re wasting time. You should be working. Everyone else is doing more.” I started measuring my worth by productivity. Rest felt irresponsible. Fun felt indulgent. Slowly, I forgot how to take care of myself.
I burned out without even realizing it.
Balancing internships, leadership roles, being an RA, and a full course load made me feel like I had to constantly prove that I deserved those opportunities. Instead of celebrating what I had achieved, I was afraid of losing it. So I overworked. I skipped self-care. I told myself I’d rest “later,” but “later” never came.
I’ve also felt it in classrooms where I was one of the few students who looked like me. I’ve felt it walking into professional spaces as an intern, wondering if I sounded polished enough or smart enough. I’ve even felt it in leadership roles or moments where people were looking to me for direction, and I quietly questioned whether I deserved to be there.
What surprised me most was realizing I wasn’t alone. Some of the most confident people I know, like the ones running organizations, landing competitive internships, and acing exams, have admitted they feel the same way. When I started college, I remember rereading my acceptance email from UW before big presentations, exams, or interviews, just to remind myself that I had been chosen.
One of my friends mentioned that she avoids applying for opportunities unless she feels 100% qualified, afraid of being exposed as underprepared. For some people, it shows up when you hesitate to raise your hand because you’re afraid your question is “stupid.” It shows up when you get an internship and start to think that they probably just needed someone. It shows up when you look at LinkedIn and see everyone announcing achievements while you’re just trying to survive midterms.
Imposter syndrome thrives in high-achieving environments like college because we are constantly surrounded by talented, ambitious people. Comparison becomes an automatic thing. Social media makes it worse. We see everyone’s highlight reel, but we rarely see the doubt behind it.
For me, balancing multiple responsibilities sometimes intensified those feelings. Instead of celebrating that I’m capable of handling those commitments, I’ve caught myself thinking, What if I can’t keep this up? Or what if they realize I’m not as competent as they think?
But here’s what I’ve learned: imposter syndrome doesn’t mean you’re unqualified. It often means you’re growing. You’re changing constantly and trying your best, and at first, it makes you feel like you’re not good at your job. The discomfort usually appears when you’re stepping into something new: a harder class, a leadership role, or a professional environment. You feel like an imposter, not because you don’t belong, but because you’re expanding.
One thing that has helped me is reframing the narrative. Instead of asking, “Do I deserve to be here?” I ask, “What can I learn from being here?” Instead of seeing others as competition, I try to see them as proof that high standards are normal, not impossible.
Another shift has been talking about it openly. The moment someone says, “Honestly, I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing half the time,” the pressure in the room changes. It becomes human.
College is a place designed to stretch you. You’re not supposed to feel fully prepared all the time. You’re not supposed to know everything. Growth is supposed to be uncomfortable by definition.
So if you’ve ever walked into a classroom, internship, meeting, or leadership role and thought, “I don’t belong here,” I promise you: that thought is not evidence. It’s fear. And fear often shows up right before growth.
So remember, you are not here at UW by accident. You are not “behind.” You are learning, and that is exactly what you’re supposed to be doing.
Maybe the real imposter isn’t you. Maybe it’s the voice telling you that you don’t belong.