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There’s probably a voice in your head right now as you read this, whispering that you’re not good enough; that you don’t belong here; and that any day now, everyone will find out you’re just winging it. That sneaky little demon sits on the shoulders of 75 percent of female executives, three quarters of women in leadership, according to KPMG research. Seven in 10 women experience it at work, and studies show that up to 70 percent of people across all demographics will face it at some point in their lives. But here’s the thing that will make you squirm: it’s not just affecting women of a certain race or claas. It’s right here in Accra, in Lagos, in every boardroom and classroom across Africa, wearing different masks but carrying the same poison. In Ghana, we have a saying: “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” But what happens when you look around the room and realise you’re often the only woman, the only African, or both? When women need to make up at least 30 percent of leadership to create real change, yet you’re sitting alone at the table? Suddenly, that collective journey feels pretty lonely. Imposter syndrome hits harder when you can’t see yourself reflected in positions of power. In our context, this cuts deeper. We’re not just fighting the usual gender battles; we’re wrestling with centuries of being told our ways of thinking, our perspectives, our very presence in certain spaces is somehow less valid. We’re navigating male-dominated fields where gender bias in performance reviews is documented, where the challenges we face contribute to feelings of self-doubt and isolation that manifest as imposter syndrome. Think about it. How many times have you walked into a meeting and felt you had to speak “more professionally” or straighten your hair to be taken seriously? How often have you attributed your promotion to diversity quotas rather than your brilliance? That’s imposter syndrome wearing traditional cloth and speaking Anlogbe. Here’s where it gets uncomfortable. In Africa, we’ve mastered the art of denial when it comes to mental health. Stress? That’s just life. Anxiety? Pray about it. Depression? You’re just being dramatic. We’ve convinced ourselves we’re somehow immune to the psychological struggles that affect the rest of humanity. But imposter syndrome is not only self-doubt; it is a mental health issue that shows up as anxiety, sleepless nights and that constant knot in your stomach. It’s working twice as hard to prove you deserve half as much. It’s the exhaustion that comes from constantly performing instead of simply being. The brain is incredibly powerful, more than we’ve begun to understand. Yet we treat it like it’s invincible, like it can’t be wounded by years of subtle messages that we don’t quite measure up. We celebrate our bodies healing from physical injuries but act like our minds should bounce back from psychological trauma without so much as a plaster. Research shows that while men experiencing imposter syndrome tend to avoid challenges, women do the opposite. We say yes to everything, work longer hours, overprepare for every meeting and still leave feeling like we haven’t done enough. Sounds familiar? In our culture, where women are expected to be everything to everyone while looking effortless doing it, this tendency becomes dangerous. We’re not just fighting imposter syndrome; we’re fighting the expectation that we should be grateful for the opportunity to fight it. The pay gap doesn’t help either. When women globally earn 82 percent of what men earn for similar work, it’s easy to internalise the message that our contributions are somehow worth less. In Africa, where economic disparities can be even more glaring, this mathematical proof of lesser value hits differently. So what do we do with this uncomfortable truth? First, we stop pretending it doesn’t exist. Imposter syndrome thrives in silence, in that space between what you present to the world and what you whisper to yourself at 3 AM. Start noticing when you’re attributing your successes to luck, timing or anything other than your capabilities. Challenge that voice. Ask yourself: if a male colleague achieved the same thing, would you question whether he deserved it? Find your people. Not just any people, but those who understand the specific weight of being underestimated. The power of seeing someone who looks like you succeeding in spaces where you want to be cannot be overstated. And perhaps most importantly, recognise that confidence isn’t the absence of doubt; it’s moving forward despite it. Every time you speak up in that meeting, apply for that promotion or start that business while your inner critic is screaming, you’re not being fake. You’re being brave. I watched a video recently about a business retreat in Lisbon where a therapist asked a room full of successful women: “Why do confident women still feel like impostors?” The answers revealed something we all recognise. One woman explained that confidence was never taught as safety, but as performance. Most women grew up hearing “be brave” and “be humble” in the same breath, learning to shrink right after shining. That tug between pride and apology is what imposter syndrome feeds on. Studies from the American Psychological Association show that 74 percent of high-achieving women secretly doubt their competence, not because they lack skill, but because praise once came with pressure. Every “you’re so smart” became a contract: don’t fail, don’t rest, don’t need. So success feels borrowed, never owned. Another woman said that each time she was promoted, she panicked, thinking they would finally see she was faking it. The therapist smiled gently and said: “That panic is just your nervous system catching up to your reality. The body still lives in an old story where visibility meant danger, not validation.” Imposter feelings don’t vanish with achievements; they dissolve with belonging. When women feel seen without performing, the brain stops scanning for proof. Confidence becomes regulation, not armour. Calm replaces adrenaline as evidence of worth. The therapist ended with this: “You’re not an impostor. You’re just a woman who was taught that pride must be earned through exhaustion.” Real confidence doesn’t wait for permission; it simply decides to stay. When you finally succeed, do you celebrate or do you start planning your escape? This is the reality for so many of us. We carry this weight not because we’re weak, but because the systems we navigate were never designed to affirm us. Here’s what nobody wants to say: imposter syndrome isn’t always wrong. Sometimes, the spaces we’re entering weren’t designed for us. Sometimes the people around the table really don’t think we belong there. The syndrome isn’t the problem; the systems that create it are. But here’s the thing about being an imposter: sometimes imposters change the whole game. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is keep showing up, keep taking up space and keep succeeding loudly until your presence becomes normal instead of noteworthy. Your achievements are not accidents. Your voice deserves to be heard. And that feeling that you don’t belong? Maybe it’s not because you’re not good enough. Maybe it’s because you’re good enough to change everything. Keep taking up space. >>>The writer is a PR, Marketing & Communications professional and General Secretary of the Network of Women in Broadcasting (NOWIB). A dedicated feminist and advocate for women in media, she champions workplace excellence while empowering voices and building bridges across the industry. Bridget is passionate about amplifying women’s stories and driving positive change in Ghana’s media. She can be reached via mbridget634@gmail.com
