Schedule a Meeting With Your Imposter

I was speaking to a group of students at NYU recently when the topic of imposter syndrome came up.

The assumption behind imposter syndrome is that there's something wrong with you if you experience it. That successful people eventually outgrow it. That one day you'll wake up feeling completely certain, completely confident, completely free from self-doubt.

I'm not convinced that's true.

What I think matters is learning how to manage the voice when it shows up.

My advice?

Give it a name.

Actually, give it a personality.

I have two.

The first is Grace.

Grace is the voice I try to listen to when I'm being unnecessarily hard on myself. She's the one who reminds me to take a breath, zoom out, and look at the facts. She doesn't tell me I'm amazing. She doesn't hand out participation trophies. She simply offers perspective.

She reminds me that I've done hard things before.

She reminds me that perfection isn't the goal.

Most importantly, she reminds me that I can give myself the same compassion I so freely give everyone else.

Then there's Dave.

I have no idea why his name is Dave. I don't have an ex called Dave. I've never had a terrible boss called Dave. To all the perfectly lovely Daves reading this, I apologize.

But Dave is the voice of doubt.

Dave is the one who shows up before big decisions, big presentations, and big opportunities.

Dave asks all the familiar questions.

What if this doesn't work?

What if you're wrong?

What if you're not ready?

What if everyone figures out you've been making it up as you go along?

Unlike Grace, I don't feel particularly patient with Dave.

In fact, Dave is the one I occasionally want to smack.

But here's what I've learned:

Neither Grace nor Dave is me.

That's the important part.

They are voices. Perspectives. Patterns.

They are not my identity.

The moment I started treating them as separate from me, something changed.

I gained distance.

And distance creates choice.

When Dave gets loud, I don't immediately believe him anymore. Instead, I schedule a meeting.

Literally.

I put time on my calendar.

Twenty minutes.

A walk. A quiet room. A coffee.

Dave gets his turn first.

He can explain why the idea won't work, why the timing is wrong, why it won't be perfect, why people might judge it, why I should wait.

I let him get it all out.

Then Grace gets a turn.

She responds with facts.

With experience.

With evidence.

With perspective.

Together, we walk through the pros, the cons, the fears, and the possibilities.

And when the meeting is over, the meeting is over.

We shake hands.

We close the notebook.

We acknowledge that there may be a difference of opinion.

And then I decide what happens next.

Not Dave.

Me.

The same thing works at 3 a.m. when your brain decides it's the perfect time to solve every problem in your life.

Instead of spiraling, I tell myself:

"I've got it. We already have time scheduled tomorrow morning to ruminate. You don't need to solve it right now."

The conversation has a place to go.

Which means I can go back to sleep.

What surprised me when I shared this at NYU was how many students connected with it immediately.

Not because they wanted to eliminate self-doubt.

But because they wanted to stop being controlled by it.

That's really the goal.

Not confidence.

Not certainty.

Agency.

The ability to hear the voice without handing it the steering wheel.

Because the voice may never disappear.

But you can decide who gets in the car next to you and who gets to drive.