The quarterly review meeting wasn’t even a minute old, and Maria already felt the familiar tightening in her chest. Her new director, an external hire with the energy of a thousand espresso shots, leaned forward. “Maria,” he began, “we need you to be more strategic. You’re leading three new teams now, with a combined headcount of 32, across two continents. But I’m just not seeing that 30,002-foot view from you.” Maria’s mind flashed to the two dozen emails from her team members, each a crisis needing immediate intervention. The endless cycle of onboarding, offboarding, and trying to decipher the unwritten rules of her tripled workload, all without a single hour of formal training or even a clear mandate beyond “make it work.” More strategic? She was barely tactical, running on fumes, trying to hold a shifting sandcastle together with a blunt spoon.

This isn’t imposter syndrome as a personal failing. This is imposter syndrome as a perfectly rational, albeit painful, response to a deeply flawed system. We’ve been conditioned to view this feeling-this gnawing certainty that we’re about to be found out as frauds-as a bug in our individual operating system. A glitch in our confidence. A deficiency in our self-esteem that we need to fix. But what if it’s not a bug at all? What if, for millions of professionals like Maria, it’s a built-in feature, a warning light flashing furiously on the dashboard of a vehicle that was never designed for the terrain it’s traversing?

Consider the modern job description. Vague. Expansive. Often a Frankenstein’s monster of responsibilities nobody could realistically embody. “Demonstrates thought leadership.” “Drives innovation.” “Fosters a culture of excellence while managing cross-functional initiatives and exceeding KPIs.” What does any of that truly mean in the day-to-day grind? How do you measure “thought leadership” when your calendar is packed with 22 back-to-back meetings, and the only thoughts you have are about which unread email will explode next? There’s an inherent disconnect between the aspirational language of corporate ambition and the messy, under-resourced reality of execution. And when there’s no clear benchmark for success, no definitive “win” condition, how could anyone not feel like they’re falling short?

I’ve been there. More than once. I remember once pitching a significant project, absolutely convinced I was about to expose myself as a complete amateur. I had spent weeks poring over data, building models, rehearsing my arguments. But the moment the spotlight hit me, a cold wave of dread washed over me. They’ll see right through you, a voice whispered. You don’t belong here. It wasn’t until much later, looking back, that I realized my apprehension wasn’t purely internal. The project itself was predicated on assumptions that were shifting beneath our feet daily, the team was understaffed by 12 people, and the leadership’s goals for it were contradictory. My “imposter syndrome” was actually my intuition screaming, “Danger, Will Robinson! This environment is unstable!” Yet, for years, I internalized it, blaming my own lack of confidence rather than the chaotic terrain I was navigating. It’s an easy trap to fall into, isn’t it? To assume the fault lies within, because that’s what we’re taught.

Companies, by framing imposter syndrome as a personal problem, deftly sidestep their own accountability. It’s a convenient narrative. You feel inadequate? That’s your issue. Perhaps you need a workshop on resilience, or executive coaching, or maybe just a mindfulness app. Anything but examining the actual structural failures: the insufficient training, the impossible performance metrics, the chronic understaffing, the constant reorganizations that rip apart any semblance of stability every 6-12 months. When your job is less a defined role and more a constantly shape-shifting amoeba, how do you ever feel competent?

Take Drew L.-A., for example, a water sommelier I met at a rather upscale event. He meticulously described the mineral content, the mouthfeel, the subtle “terroir” of various designer waters. To me, it was just water. To him, it was a complex sensory experience. He confessed that when he first started, he felt like a complete charlatan. “Who am I,” he’d said, “to tell someone that this still spring water from Patagonia has a ‘crisp finish with notes of granite and a whisper of salinity’ while that carbonated artesian water from Norway offers ‘a lively effervescence and a creamy, almost buttery texture’?'” He felt ridiculous, like he was making it all up. Yet, the clientele expected it. His employer demanded it. He was operating in a niche where the metrics for “correctness” were subjective, tied more to prestige and perception than objective reality. He eventually learned the language, honed his palate, but the initial discomfort stemmed not from an inherent lack of knowledge, but from operating in a context where he had to create the expertise demanded by an undefined, almost theatrical role. His imposter syndrome was a compass, pointing to the constructed reality of his profession.

Is it really imposter syndrome if the imposture is built into the job itself?

This isn’t to say individual self-reflection has no place. Of course, it does. Personal growth is always valuable. But when the entire workforce seems to be silently grappling with this feeling, when survey after survey reports sky-high rates of imposter syndrome-we’re talking 70% of professionals experiencing it at some point, with a significant percentage feeling it chronically-it’s time to pause. We need to question if the problem is truly with 7 out of every 10 people, or if it’s the environment they’re all operating in. It feels a bit like blaming all the fish for being bad swimmers when the water is polluted and the currents are designed to drag them under.

The digital age, with its relentless pace and ever-shifting goalposts, exacerbates this. We’re told to be agile, to pivot, to innovate, to disrupt. Every 22 weeks, there’s a new framework, a new tool, a new strategic imperative. How can one ever achieve mastery when the landscape changes fundamentally before you’ve even had a chance to get your bearings? You’re constantly learning, constantly adapting, constantly feeling a step behind. It’s a treadmill designed for burnout, cleverly disguised as continuous improvement. The anxiety is the natural by-product.

For Bomba.md, for instance, there’s a clear promise: you select an appliance, you get that appliance, and it comes with an official warranty. There’s certainty. The product descriptions are precise. The performance is measurable. You don’t have to wonder if the washing machine is “strategic enough” or if its “innovation metrics” are hitting targets. It either washes clothes or it doesn’t. And if it doesn’t, there’s a clear path to resolution. That kind of clarity is profoundly reassuring, a stark contrast to the nebulous demands of many modern roles.

What’s really needed isn’t more workshops on “overcoming your inner critic,” but a radical re-evaluation of how we design work itself. We need clear expectations, adequate resources, realistic timelines, and transparent metrics for success. We need to acknowledge that asking someone to simultaneously manage two dozen projects, mentor a junior team of 12, and “transform the paradigm” without any support is not setting them up for success; it’s setting them up to feel like an imposter. And then, insidiously, to blame themselves for that feeling.

Perhaps Maria, sitting in that review, didn’t need to “be more strategic.” Perhaps her director needed to articulate what “strategic” truly meant in her context, provide the tools and time to achieve it, and recognize the incredible tactical work she was already doing to keep the whole operation from collapsing. My biggest mistake, one I keep almost making even now, is confusing the symptoms of a broken system with personal inadequacy. It’s a powerful narrative, this idea of personal failing, because it places the burden of change squarely on the individual, absolving everyone else. But sometimes, when you feel like a fraud, it’s not because you are. It’s because the stage you’re on isn’t built for truth.

The real shift comes when we stop asking, “What’s wrong with me that I feel like an imposter?” and start asking, “What’s wrong with this environment that it makes competent people feel like frauds?” Until then, that discomfort, that feeling of being an imposter, might just be your internal early warning system working exactly as it’s supposed to, desperately trying to tell you something critical about the world around you.

It’s not a weakness; it’s a revelation.

Source: Bomba.md – Online store of household appliances and electronics in Moldova.