The silent struggle: overcoming imposter syndrome and finding my place in tech

Transcript

Hello, everyone!

I’m Claire—and thank you so much for being here.

I know you've all just had lunch, so I promise to keep this session easy breezy. No heavy lifting.

I’ll be honest—this is my first time standing on a stage, and I’m absolutely stoked to be here in front of you all. But in the spirit of today’s talk—which is all about not suffering in silence—I’m just going to come out and say it:

I am so nervous.

I’m mic’d up (thank you!) My face is the size of a small country on the screen. And I’ve got this clicky thing, which I’m not very proficient with—so bear with me!

And how ironic, right? I’m here giving a talk on impostor syndrome... while having impostor syndrome... and occasionally wondering if I have impostor syndrome about having impostor syndrome.

So let me set a few expectations.

First—this is not a “how I overcame impostor syndrome and now I’m cured” talk. Sorry to disappoint, but I still struggle with it. Some days it’s a whisper. Other days it’s a full-on foghorn.

Second—I’m not a therapist. What you’re about to hear is part personal experience, part light research, and part humour (delivered with wit and memes).

Let’s crack into it.

What is impostor syndrome?

Impostor syndrome is having a moment right now, but it’s not new.

It’s been recognised since the late 1970s, when Dr Pauline Clance and Dr Suzanne Imes published a paper called “The Impostor Phenomenon in High Achieving Women: Dynamics and Therapeutic Intervention.” (What a title.)

I won’t dive into the academic detail, but here’s the key thing: Impostor syndrome doesn’t care who you are. It’s an equal-opportunity pain in the ass.

An estimated 70% of people experience it at some point in their lives. If you’re not feeling like a fraud—someone close to you probably is.

Even famous people have spoken openly about it:

David Bowie reinvented himself again and again—proof that self-doubt doesn’t care how many hits you’ve had.

Sheryl Sandberg admitted she sometimes felt like she didn’t belong at the table—while literally being the COO of Facebook.

Howard Schultz, former CEO of Starbucks, wondered if he was good enough to run the company—while running the company.

Tom Hanks still wonders when someone’s going to tap him on the shoulder and say, “You don’t belong here.”

Impostor syndrome doesn’t discriminate.

Why tech?

So why is impostor syndrome so common in tech?

I have a few theories.

1. Tech moves fast. New frameworks, new tools, new languages—they’re popping up faster than we can hit “update” on our dev dependencies. Even senior developers can feel like they’re constantly trying to keep up.

2. Our work is highly visible. Between code reviews, demos, and pushing to prod, there’s this constant spotlight. Forget to remove a console.log() in your PR (which I’ve done many times)? Someone will notice. Do something differently? Someone will ask, “Why did you do it that way?” All of it can make us question our abilities.

3. Tech is massive. From front-end to back-end, cloud to mainframes, DevOps to data wrangling. Even if you’re an expert in your area, the moment someone talks about a different layer of the stack, there’s this pressure to nod along like you totally get it—because heaven forbid we admit we don’t know something.

Does any of this sound familiar? Let me throw a few internal dialogues at you—see if any of these sound familiar:

“I’m definitely going to get caught out on this one.”

“How do they make it look so easy?”

“Am I the only one who doesn’t get this?”

“I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“I’m just faking it till I make it.”

And then we have the throwaway comments—things we say (or hear) all the time:

“I probably should’ve known that. I’m sorry.”

“Let me know if I’m totally off base. I probably am.”

“I’m not that technical in this space.” (Very guilty!)

“Honestly, my job is just knowing how to Google things and use Stack Overflow.”

If you’ve said any of these—even once—I want you to hear this clearly:

You are not alone.

But these thoughts can be powerful. They can keep us stuck. They can keep us silent.

And the longer we stay silent, the more impostor syndrome thrives.

My journey with impostor syndrome

Let me share my journey with impostor syndrome, in the hope that we can feel a little less alone together.

As a kid, I was an extroverted little overachiever. Things just kind of worked out without much effort. But when high school came around, everything changed. It went from really easy to really hard—and that’s when I had my first real experience with impostor syndrome.

I didn’t know what it was at the time, but I knew the feeling. And it hit me hard.

So, I became the class clown. I made people laugh so they wouldn’t notice I was lost. I pointed out my flaws with self-deprecating humour so no one else could beat me to it.

By my final year of high school (and honestly, I have no idea how I made it that far), my parents were called into the Dean’s office. They were told, “We just don’t think school’s for Claire.” Which… fair enough.

So I did what every ambitious 17-year-old dreams of—I sold insurance over the phone.

Over the next five years, I worked my way through customer service, retail, and eventually into management. I owe a lot to those years. They built the foundation of transferable skills I still use today.

At 23, I was at the tail end of my OE in Canada—very common for us pre-COVID kids. As I prepared to come home, I stumbled across an online learning platform called Co-Cademy, and I was hooked.

This may sound a bit wild, but I just knew that this was what I wanted to do. So I studied hard, earned a diploma, and landed a job at a tiny three-person web agency.

On day one, my job was to build a simple progress bar.

And just like that—impostor syndrome enters the chat.

Within five minutes, my heart was racing. My chest was tight. My palms were sweaty. I thought, I don’t know what I’m doing. They’re going to find out. They’re going to laugh about it over Friday beers.

That feeling didn’t go away.

Impostor syndrome sat on my shoulder constantly, whispering that every small win was just dumb luck. When I started to feel like I was improving, it told me, Ha! You just got lucky on that one.

It spiralled into a loop that made me question why my confidence had ghosted me.

There were ups and downs during those early years as a developer, but impostor syndrome was always there. After five years, feeling more sure of myself, I applied for a role at BNZ.

Now, I was pretty new to the frameworks they used, but I was keen to learn. And while I don’t want to downplay my skills—it was a steep learning curve.

I still remember my first meeting with the devs. Seven people sitting around a table for an hour, discussing their work, concepts, new things they were reading and experimenting with.

And the only thing I understood in that meeting… were the Tim Tams on the table.

I spent my days grinding through code, trying to close the gap I believed existed between me and everyone else. I hid my perceived incompetence, flaws, and failures. It was exhausting. I started defaulting to self-deprecation again—better to make the joke before someone else did.

And the more I did it, the more I started to believe I wasn’t good enough.

About eight months into the role, a new developer joined us from another team. We got chatting over a few beers, and I rolled out my usual line: “Nearly a year in, and I still have no idea what I’m doing.”

He replied, “If I was working with devs who’ve been in the field for 20 years, I’d feel that way too.”

Twenty years!

I just blinked. Holy crap—maybe I’m not as much of a fraud as I thought.

I was sitting on a quarter of the experience in that room, but somehow, I’d convinced myself I was supposed to be swinging at the same level as everyone else. No wonder it felt like I’d shown up to a hackathon with a calculator.

That conversation marked the beginning of a mindset shift—towards progress over perfection.

I started asking questions. Following up after meetings. Saying, “Hey, can you help me with that?” And people were happy to help! It wasn’t nearly as scary as I’d imagined. The culture was supportive. I had fantastic mentors.

Slowly but surely, I found my feet. I started to believe that maybe I did belong here—though my self-doubt still needed the occasional timeout.

But like all great movie plots, just when the hero hits their stride—bam: plot twist.

In my case, it was motherhood.

Yes, that’s my daughter in the photo—and yes, she gave me permission to share it. Her exact words: “This is so funny, you can.”

Now, don’t get me wrong—this isn’t the part where I say motherhood ruined everything. I love being a mum.

But this talk isn’t about how adorable my kids are (even though they objectively are). This is about impostor syndrome—and how it doesn’t care if you’re on three hours’ sleep and covered in mashed banana.

When I came back to work, I wasn’t the “new dev” anymore. I was expected to be a seasoned pro. But instead of returning with confidence, I shuffled in—emotionally jet-lagged from a year of nappies and Cocomelon.

The tech had changed. The team had changed. And I was stuck trying to remember how to cope, while my brain was still buffering.

I quietly panicked through stories. I delivered work slowly. I googled things secretly, hoping no one would look over my shoulder. I felt isolated—not because of anyone else, but because I didn’t want to be found out.

That little voice on my shoulder—the one that had gone quiet for a while? She was back. And louder than ever.

My husband, who also works in tech, was my rock. He had front row seats to the internal monologue I was battling every day. But instead of pep talks or motivational speeches, he asked disarming, simple questions.

“Who is actually saying that about you? Or is that just what you think they’re thinking?”

“If someone else were in your exact position, would you think that of them?”

He helped me separate fact from the dramatic fiction I was carrying around like a pile of bricks.

And if something was true—fine. Let’s fix it.

But if it was just an opinion I had of myself… maybe I didn’t need to carry it anymore.

It took time. I’m someone who comes pre-installed with a light dusting of self-doubt. So when I’m out of my comfort zone, I’m more vulnerable to those feelings.

But that’s really the heart of it.

Impostor syndrome thrives when we step outside what feels safe.

But being out of your comfort zone doesn’t mean you’re failing. More often than not—it means you’re growing.

After rebuilding my confidence post-maternity leave (twice), I started to recognise not just what I was capable of as a developer—but also the unique strengths I brought to the table:

Empathy. Communication. A hell of a lot of multitasking.

Mums will know.

You know, these are called "soft skills"—but they’re actually not that soft at all.

Which brings me to now.

I'm two months into a new role as an engineering lead. And I’ll be honest—when my mentor first asked if I’d ever considered becoming one, I absolutely had. But I had two very convincing reasons why I wasn't interested:

I was not ready to welcome impostor syndrome back.

I genuinely believed I wasn’t technical enough—and that the faith others had in me was based on a version of me that didn’t really exist.

But then a role opened up. And I figured—it’s now or never. Time to invite impostor syndrome back to the table. Buckle up and see what happens.

Week one: What have I done? I’ve tricked them. I have no idea what I’m doing. They’re going to figure it all out.

Week two: All I want are my headphones, my code, and a comfortable story to work on. Please get me out of here.

Week three: Do you think I could sneakily go back to my old job? Would anyone notice? (Yes, I really said that.)

Week four, day two: Wait… I’m in a meeting about something I actually know about. I’ve already taken action on it. Holy crap—I just engineering’d a little bit.

Week four, day three: False alarm. Back to panic.

Week five: You know what? I’m starting to get the hang of this. I’m starting to connect.

Week six: Today was a good day.

Now look, I’m sitting at around two months in—and I’m loving it. But as you can see, it wasn’t smooth sailing from day one.

There are still days where I question myself. And when those days come up, here are a few techniques I use to help:

1. Thoughts vs facts

Just because we think something doesn’t mean it’s true. Take a breath. Ask yourself: Where’s the evidence? Try to slow down. Challenge the thought.

Even now, in a leadership role, impostor syndrome doesn’t magically disappear—it just puts on a more professional outfit.

But when I ask myself, is this a thought or a fact? it becomes like an anchor—something to ground me when I start to spiral. I may not be able to stop the thoughts, but I can fact-check them.

2. Progress over perfection

Perfectionism is sneaky. It holds you to impossible standards. Don’t let perfection overshadow your progress.

If you saw Julia’s talk, she illustrated this perfectly with the mountain analogy. Focus on small steps—even if they’re not “perfect”. Because progress is perfect enough.

In my current role, my job is really about connecting with people, asking questions, and being curious. Saying “I don’t know… yet.” And that tiny “yet” does so much heavy lifting.

3. Don’t do it alone

When you’re deep in the spiral, impostor syndrome whispers sweet, evil nothings into your ear. And the worst thing you can do is keep those thoughts locked in your own head.

Eventually, when it got really bad, I started opening up—to my husband, to colleagues, to mentors.

And every time I did, I heard some version of the same thing: “Me too.”

Suddenly, it wasn’t just my burden to carry. The isolation started to dissolve.

So find your people. Find your safe space. Find your “Hey… is anyone else feeling like this?” crew.

It’s not about being the loudest or the fastest coder in the room. Sometimes, it’s about having the courage to ask for help.

Impostor syndrome thrives in isolation—so call it out. And call your crew.

4. Help create the right culture

What can you do to help others?

Create an environment where asking questions is normal. Where mistakes are learning opportunities. Where leaders show vulnerability instead of perfection.

Looking back, one of the reasons I made it through those impostor-heavy chapters was because I had people around me who made it safe to be unsure.

I’m lucky—my current and past workplaces have done this well. And now that I’m in a leadership role, I feel even more responsibility to protect and promote that openness. To support vulnerability, growth, and belonging.

Because here’s the truth: The way we show up affects how others feel safe to show up, too. Whether you’re a lead, a senior, or new to the field—you have the power to shape the culture you work in. And it starts with the small stuff.

I’m not expecting you to walk away today having conquered impostor syndrome. There’s no quick fix. No magical cure. But there are ways to turn down the volume. There are ways to shift from feeling stuck in the back seat to being in the driver’s seat—choosing your direction and even picking the music.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: Growth isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it looks like quietly showing up. It looks like asking for help. And it looks like telling that inner voice, “Not today.” (Yes, I was going to swear there. But I didn’t.)

Impostor syndrome doesn’t mean you’re a fraud.

It means you care. It means you’re pushing yourself. It means you’re growing.

So please—share your story. Be the reason someone else doesn’t feel so alone in theirs.

And with that, thanks for listening!