The past couple of months have been unexpectedly heavy. I’ve found myself caught in a swirl of self-doubt, second-guessing everything—especially my path as a singer-songwriter navigating the waters of the music industry. The imposter syndrome has been creeping in louder than usual. I’ve woken up with thoughts like What am I even doing? Am I good enough? Do I actually belong in this space?
It’s exhausting. And discouraging. I’ve been questioning whether I should keep going, whether any of it really matters, or if I’m just fooling myself.
When these feelings hit, my instinct is usually to retreat—to quietly try and work through it on my own. But this time, that silence just made it worse.
A couple weeks ago, something shifted. I went to dinner with a couple of girlfriends, and one of them opened up about how deeply she’s been struggling with imposter syndrome. As she spoke, it felt like she was reading my mind—describing thoughts and feelings I hadn’t even said out loud. Then our other friend chimed in—she was feeling it, too.
And in that moment, I felt such a wave of relief. Not because I want the people I love to struggle—but because I realized I wasn’t the only one. I wasn’t crazy or weak or failing. I was just human.
Social media can trick us into thinking everyone else has it all figured out. But behind the scenes, so many of us are carrying the weight of quiet doubts, wondering if we’re good enough, if we’re really cut out for the dreams we’re chasing.
For me, lately, a big part of that has been working to grow my confidence as a live performer, specifically accompanying myself on guitar. I’ve been practicing, showing up for myself, and pushing through the discomfort. But as each show approaches, those voices get louder: You should be better by now. You’re going to embarrass yourself. Everyone around you is so much better at guitar than you.
And the harshest one of all: If no one fully believes in you, how can you believe in yourself?
But that night reminded me of something important—something I forget too easily: we don’t have to carry this stuff alone. There’s real power in naming it. There’s healing in hearing someone else say, me too.
I’m grateful my friend was brave enough to share what she was going through because it made room for the rest of us to breathe and be honest, too. In that moment, I felt a little lighter.
So if you’ve been stuck in your head lately—feeling like a fraud, like you don’t belong—please know that you’re not the only one. And just because the thoughts are loud doesn’t mean they’re true.
Keep going. You belong here
Xox,
Kimberly Dawn