Blog – Imposter Syndrome
Have you ever felt like you’re not good enough? Or that everyone else seems more capable, more confident, or more deserving of their success? I later learned that these feelings have a name: imposter syndrome. Well, this used to be me, and honestly, it still is to some extent. I believe it never truly goes away. But over time, I’ve learned ways to manage it, and I want to share what has helped me.
Even now, I question whether I’m doing things well enough, whether I might make a mistake, or whether I’m fully prepared for the challenges ahead. For those encountering the term for the first time, imposter syndrome is an internal anxiety that persists despite visible achievements. It varies by person. Some scientists are perfectionists, rarely feeling fully qualified and worrying about mistakes. Others throw themselves into work, seeking reassurance through productivity. Some may hesitate to ask questions in lab meetings or journal clubs, concerned that any uncertainty might make them look less competent. These thoughts can make even small setbacks feel more discouraging than they really are.
I experienced imposter syndrome from the very start of my career. After finishing my Master’s, I joined a high-pressure lab in London as a research assistant. Everyone around me had years of experience, knew the field inside out, and seemed effortlessly capable. I constantly compared myself to them. Every experiment that failed, every figure that didn’t turn out perfectly, felt like proof that I didn’t belong. I thought I should already know how to troubleshoot, how to interpret complex data, how to lead experiments, all while feeling completely out of my depth.
Then moving into industry in biotech didn’t make it any easier. The environment was completely new, the protocols unfamiliar, and the expectations high. I worried that asking questions would make me look incompetent, and that any mistake would define me in my colleagues’ eyes. Even during my PhD, despite having years of experience, conferences were nerve-wracking. Presenting data and fielding questions from senior researchers and listening to complex talks. I remember sitting in the audience thinking, “How do they make this look so easy?”
Lab groups themselves can amplify these feelings. Labs are ecosystems with people at every stage of their career, from undergraduates to postdocs and professors. Everyone is juggling tasks, experiments, deadlines, and personal challenges. It’s easy to notice others’ strengths and compare them to your own. You might see a postdoc pipetting with ease while you struggle with volumes, or a senior researcher presenting findings that feel incomprehensible. These comparisons can feel inescapable, but they rarely reflect the full picture.
Over the years, I’ve discovered ways to manage with imposter syndrome. One of the most important shifts has been in how I think about my work. Instead of aiming for perfection, I try to aim for growth. Mistakes and setbacks are no longer evidence that I don’t belong; they are opportunities to learn and get better. The weeks of experiments that don’t work, the presentations that feel imperfect, the feedback that challenges me – all these moments are part of developing as a scientist.
I’ve also learned to stop comparing myself to others. It’s so easy to watch a senior researcher run experiments effortlessly or present at a conference with ease and feel like you’re lagging behind. But comparing your behind-the-scenes to someone else’s highlight reel doesn’t help. Looking back at how far you’ve come and focusing on your own journey is much more meaningful, and it helps you see real progress that you might otherwise overlook. Comparing only to your past self can help you move forward. You begin to see how much you’ve done to get into the position you are today. I remember when I first started experiments. At the beginning, I struggled with simple things, but then transitioned to running experiments independently and even teaching to others. Looking back, the growth was obvious, even if other lab members could do it faster. It was a tangible reminder that I was learning and improving.
Sharing your struggles is also helpful. A problem shared is a problem halved. If you feel like you’re not capable enough to be in the position you are, ask for help. I remember reaching out to a postdoc, at first nervous that I was bothering them with “silly” questions. But simply talking through my challenges and asking for tips not only reduced my stress, it also improved my confidence. You quickly realise that everyone has been in your shoes at some point, and most people are eager to support you.
Taking action, even when you don’t feel fully confident, has been another key lesson. Waiting until confidence magically appears is a trap. By stepping forward, asking questions, trying new techniques, or presenting your data, you gradually build competence and with that, confidence follows.
Practising self-compassion makes a huge difference. Remind yourself that it’s okay not to know everything, to ask for help, or to make mistakes. Being kind to yourself doesn’t make you weaker, it makes you resilient, more open to learning, and better able to contribute to your field. Moving forward doesn’t require the absence of doubt; it requires recognizing it, accepting it, and continuing anyway.
Even small changes in mindset can make a big difference. Instead of letting setbacks feel like failures, view them as learning opportunities. Instead of letting self-doubt keep you from asking questions, remind yourself that curiosity is a strength, not a weakness. Focus on celebrating your own growth rather than measuring yourself against the accomplishments of others.
In a field like dementia research, where the pace can be intense and the stakes high, these strategies are especially important. Experiments fail, grants get rejected, and papers take months to revise. In those moments, it’s easy to feel like you’re falling short. But every researcher, no matter how senior, has faced uncertainty, setbacks, and the feeling that they don’t belong. By acknowledging these feelings rather than ignoring them, and by using strategies like focusing on growth, sharing challenges, accepting praise, taking action, and practising self-compassion, we can navigate the inevitable ups and downs of a scientific career.
The reality is, imposter syndrome doesn’t vanish entirely, but it can be managed. You can recognize your growth, share your challenges, celebrate successes, and embrace the fact that learning is lifelong. Your journey in science is not a race against others, it’s a journey of discovery, resilience, and progress.
If you’re feeling like you’re not good enough, know that these feelings are common. Comparing only to your past self can help you move forward, and a problem shared is a problem halved. Ask for help when you need it, track your wins, and recognize that setbacks are part of being a scientist. Science is challenging, yes, but it’s also deeply rewarding. Your contributions, your curiosity, your questions, and your insights matter. You belong in the lab, and you can achieve far more than you might believe in moments of self-doubt.
Rahul Sidhu
Author
Rahul Sidhu is a PhD student at The University of Sheffield, focusing on the effects of heart disease on dementia in preclinical models of Alzheimer’s disease. His research aims to uncover how cardiovascular health influences neurodegenerative conditions, potentially leading to novel therapeutic strategies.
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https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.18881452