Do I really belong here? On impostor syndrome in research

The new year has just begun, and Bob starts it enthusiastically, recharged after the holiday break. He’s determined to follow his list of New Year’s resolutions with renewed energy, now that he’s back at work. He believes that he can do this and that this year will finally be different. A little extra effort, a little more discipline, and Bob, you’ll finally become a good-enough scientist like your colleagues, he says to himself. For those who don’t know him, Bob is an experienced researcher working at a renowned academic institution, one of the best in the world in his research field.

A few weeks in, though, and the enthusiasm of the start begins to cool down.

The problems are the same and probably even growing. Bob’s desk gets overfilled with paperwork, new papers to read to stay up to date with science, notebooks filled with endless experimental plans (a different color for each project!), sketches of a thousand ideas that perhaps will never really work, a list of fundamental reagents to buy, and… what else? The list grows and grows. Bob feels alone, and everyone is so busy with their own stuff that getting help is difficult, if not impossible. Besides, asking for help would show that he doesn’t have what it takes to thrive—maybe I should just do it all myself, he thinks, like everyone else seems to be doing.

What is wrong with you, Bob? After all, we are all in the same boat. But then quietly, almost automatically, the doubt creeps in: why are you the only one who seems to struggle to navigate it? And once that question is there, it becomes hard to ignore.

It’s evening now, too late to get started on a new experiment. Bob heads home, only to realize he forgot to buy groceries on the way back! Things keep accumulating, and thoughts start racing; it’s nearly impossible to catch up with them. Oh, and for example, look at that colleague posting on LinkedIn that their experiment worked in no time, while he is still here, sitting on the couch, trying to figure out whether his only idea of the month even makes any sense at all.

Bob doesn’t know how to feel better, but he surely knows the questions to ask himself as he heads to bed: Is this really my place? Do I belong here? Why does everybody else seem to be so successful while I struggle so much?

Maybe I’d be better off doing something else.

Maybe, after all, I’m not that smart.

If you thought Bob was a fictional character, spoiler alert: you’re wrong. In fact, Bob might be you. Bob is, in a way, all of us. And, funny enough, we don’t seem to be aware of it—at least not all of the time.

Welcome to impostor syndrome

It is popularly known as “impostor syndrome” and more technically referred to as the “impostor phenomenon” (1,2): the psychological pattern in which individuals develop persistent feelings of inadequacy and a fear of being exposed as incompetent, despite clear evidence of their abilities and accomplishments (3). Research indicates that the impostor phenomenon is prevalent across fields that involve performance and constant evaluation and is most commonly reported among people who are high-achieving and working in highly selective and performance-driven environments (4), where they are subject to sustained scrutiny and ambiguous success criteria. This helps explain why it has been studied so extensively in settings like higher education, medicine, and STEM (5,6).

Impostor feelings don’t come from a single source but emerge from a combination of individual personality traits, cultural expectations, and social dynamics that reinforce self-doubt and a sense of not belonging (3,7,9). For instance, people who experience what researchers call belonging uncertainty—the persistent feeling of not fully fitting in or of being out of place in a given environment (8)—are more likely to develop impostor feelings (9). 

Let me give you a striking example. In the Western context, the one I am writing from, it might have been more accurate to name Bob “Cindy” instead, reflecting the experiences often reported by women at work, or “Ahmed,” reflecting those of people from racialized or religious minority backgrounds. Or perhaps the more generic “first-year researcher” would have worked, to highlight how early-career stages can amplify feelings of not belonging (9). I could go on and on with many other examples, each showing in a different way how social context and structural factors shape both perception and lived experience. Nevertheless, I chose to call our fictional character Bob for the simple, dull reason that the name is short and fits with the narrative. The point is not who Bob is but what he feels. Across gender, background, age, or any other visible or invisible differences, his inner questions—Do I really belong here?—are what sound remarkably similar among us all. 

That is why if Bob’s doubts sound familiar to you, I don’t think it’s a coincidence.

I myself was incredibly surprised when, while conducting career interviews with researchers I truly admired, many of them expressed similar doubts, despite being at senior career stages. But you’re great! I would love to have told them loudly. And if you feel like this… how could I possibly feel? I’ve achieved so little compared with what you have accomplished along the way.

All of this made me think: they are brilliant, and they don’t even realize it. That must mean something. They are Bob, and I now see this from the outside. I can clearly tell that something is wrong, that they are focusing only on one part of the picture: the part defined by struggle and self-doubt. What if the same reasoning, adjusted for career stage, age, and experience, also applied to me? That is when I realized that perhaps Bob might be me, too—and that maybe I am not as inadequate as I sometimes feel. Perhaps none of us is. Perhaps being a work in progress is, more generally, a feature of being human.

Impostor feelings among researchers: a reflective perspective

Impostor syndrome matters not only because it affects so many of us deeply and personally but also because the consequences of leaving it unaddressed can be serious. Research shows that impostor feelings can undermine confidence, limit academic and career development, and negatively affect psychological well-being, increasing the risk of depression and anxiety-related disorders (10,11). Beyond the data, it is simply exhausting to live with the constant sense that what one does is never good enough.

In addition to institutional contexts and individual personality traits, which vary widely from person to person, I would like to consider one more factor that may complicate, or perhaps structure, this broader picture, to answer the question: why does impostor syndrome seem to be experienced widely among researchers in higher education and STEM?

High-pressure and competitive environments undoubtedly play a role, but I suspect this is only one part of the story. Perhaps the nature of science itself contributes to these feelings. Humility may be a defining trait of many people who choose a career in science, because in doing so, they recognize how little we truly know about the world. We understand that reality cannot be fully described but only approximated, ever more accurately but never completely. Perhaps we apply the same reasoning to ourselves. Let me explain better what I mean: while generalizations are always imperfect, I feel that most researchers I have met are humble, open-minded, and deeply curious individuals. They share a passion and an enthusiasm that don’t elevate them above others but instead push them to learn from those who inspire them. This, often combined with a variable degree of perfectionism, might make it difficult for them to believe that their work truly has an impact. 

As scientists, we are keenly aware of the complexity of reality and of the fact that our contributions capture only a small fragment of it. As a consequence, we know, almost instinctively, that we could always do better. This mindset is remarkably effective when applied to the pursuit of knowledge, as it allows for slow, careful, and meaningful progress. However, it becomes far less helpful when we apply it to ourselves as individuals. Our value as human beings is not defined by the nature of our achievements, though this is easy to forget. 

What, then, makes us worthwhile? I do not pretend to have an answer, but I believe our willingness to make thoughtful use of the tools we are given plays an important role. Unraveling knowledge takes time and is never perfect. Perhaps we should allow ourselves to feel some joy in the fact that we are, in small but meaningful ways, at least trying to contribute to it and that this may one day help others after us.

From self-doubt to self-compassion

Part of the answer to how we can reduce the prevalence of impostor feelings lies in the systems we work within. Environments that fail to promote equity and inclusion inevitably reinforce self-doubt and discouragement (12), which is why supportive workplaces that provide good leadership, genuine care for people, attentiveness to their needs, and a strong sense of teamwork can make a real difference. To support the well-being of us all, organizations should learn not only how to function efficiently but also how to care for individuals, which is something that requires empathy and awareness at every structural level. On this line, research shows that when people feel valued, they are more likely to perceive their work as meaningful and worthwhile, which reflects on their identity structure (13). As social beings, we need recognition from our communities. Addressing structural inequalities and actively promoting inclusive environments is therefore one of the crucial steps toward reducing impostor feelings at their roots.

That being said, systemic change is only part of the story. Personal growth matters, too, and no one can do that work on our behalf. We, on our end, should learn to be kinder to ourselves. When we demand perfect performance, we should pause, breathe, and remember that perfection does not exist in scientific reality. How could we expect to embody something that does not exist in the very field we practice?

We are human and, by definition, imperfect.

Imperfection is beautiful. We are all—and will always be, no matter what age or career stage—a beautiful, imperfect, work in progress. 🙂

Ready to connect with researchers who understand?

Discover the movement connecting academics worldwide to network, support each other, and promote open science.

Learn More

Interview with Dr. Marchesi

From childhood dream to research

Her journey from clinician to funded researcher wasn't easy. It required a brilliant idea, relentless passion, and the right partnership.

Read More

Author

Francesca Gatto is a PhD candidate in immuno-oncology at Karolinska Institutet, former intern in Communication and Outreach and now Guest Blogger at AdvanSci. Francesca works to make research engaging, accessible, and inclusive for everyone, with the aim to build a meaningful dialogue between science and society.

Editors

Daniela Grassi, PhD, cofounder and research consultant at AdvanSci Research Solutions. She has a background in neuroscience and a long-standing passion for metascience and improving research practices.

Sean Kim, PhD, is a medical writer at AdvanSci Research Solutions. He has been a medical writer since 2006, writing extensively on therapeutics for a wide range of areas.