I Don’t Belong Here: Unpacking Imposter Syndrome in the Lab and the Boardroom

Where It Started

For me, it didn’t begin in the boardroom. It started in high school.

I went to an elite prep school where ambition was the currency and competition was the atmosphere we all breathed. Everyone was gunning for the top — top placements in academics, sports,  college admissions, and the never-ending game of bragging rights. I had sports covered. That was my lane.  And I was always a strong student but my focus started slipping right before senior year, and so did my confidence.

That summer, my parents divorced. While my classmates sharpened their résumés and rehearsed for Ivy League interviews, I was quietly trying to keep my world from splitting in two. I still looked the part — poised, polished, pulled together. That’s how people saw me. Even at seventeen, I knew how to present myself with confidence and intelligence. But inside? I felt like I was fraying. I was afraid I couldn’t back it up — and worse, that everyone would eventually find out.

That was my first real taste of imposter syndrome. And it wouldn’t be my last.

The Pattern We Don’t Talk About

Imposter syndrome doesn’t always show up as panic. Sometimes, it’s subtle — a second-guess before you speak in a meeting, a spreadsheet double-checked ten times, a voice in your head whispering, “Don’t mess this up — this is where they figure you out.”

By the time I entered the biotech and pharma world, that voice was quieter, but still there — lurking beneath every milestone. A promotion? Maybe they just needed a woman in that role. A big presentation? I hope no one notices I’m not the smartest person in the room. Even when I had the metrics, the results, the credibility — something inside me questioned whether I truly belonged. And I know I’m not alone.

In coaching women across the industry — brilliant, capable, highly accomplished women — I see this pattern again and again. We wear our résumés like armor, hoping they’ll protect us from that inner voice. We think if we just collect enough credentials, earn enough trust, lead enough teams, then we’ll feel worthy.

But imposter syndrome doesn’t disappear when you hit a title. It just evolves. For many women in science and medicine, it’s compounded by being “the only” in the room — the only woman, the only person of color, the youngest voice at the table. We internalize the idea that we have to prove we belong in every conversation, every decision, every inch of visibility we earn.

We’re told to be confident — but not too assertive. Strategic — but not too ambitious. Resilient — but never vulnerable. And so, we carry all of it: the pressure, the polish, the need to keep it together at all times. It’s exhausting. It’s unsustainable. And I’m here to say, enough.

What I Know Now

It took me years to realize that imposter syndrome isn’t a flaw. It’s a signal — and often, it’s not even coming from us. It’s the byproduct of a system that wasn’t built for women like us to lead in the first place.

Looking back, I can see that the polished version of myself — the poised, confident achiever — was both armor and aspiration. I was capable. I was intelligent. I was ready. But I didn’t feel safe enough to fully believe it, because I was so busy trying to prove I was enough.

In biotech and healthcare, we work in environments where evidence is everything — data, protocols, peer-reviewed proof. So, it’s no surprise that we start to crave that same level of external validation in our careers. But here’s the truth no one tells you: there’s no amount of “proof” that will silence a belief you haven’t challenged.

What finally shifted for me wasn’t a promotion or a panel or a big win. It was doing the inner work — learning to separate the voice of fear from the voice of truth. I started listening for the moments when I did feel powerful, when I did belong, and anchoring myself there.

I also stopped playing by rules I never agreed to.

I stopped apologizing for taking up space. I stopped shrinking my accomplishments. I started mentoring women not just on strategy, but on self-trust. Because it’s not just about rising — it’s about rising without losing yourself along the way. If I could go back to that seventeen-year-old girl at the prep school, I wouldn’t tell her to try harder or look sharper. I’d tell her: You don’t have to earn belonging. You already do.

 A New Way to Measure Enough

Here’s what’s tricky about imposter syndrome — it doesn’t stay in its lane. It doesn’t only whisper when you walk into a boardroom. It shows up when you’re dating. When you’re parenting. When you’re setting boundaries. When you’re finally starting to ask for what you need instead of just giving.

It says: You should’ve handled that better. You’re too much. You’re not enough.

And if we’re not careful, we start building a life around managing that voice instead of rewriting it. For a long time, I believed that if I just achieved enough, succeeded enough, looked composed enough — then I’d finally feel worthy. But worthiness doesn’t come at the end of a checklist. It’s a relationship — and it starts with you.

So if you’ve ever walked into a room and wondered whether you belong — you do.
If you’ve ever quieted your voice because you thought someone else knew better — speak up.  And if you’ve ever felt like the only one asking “Am I good enough?” — you’re not alone.

Let’s stop performing perfection and start practicing presence. Let’s rewrite that voice and flip the script — together.