Pretty much every leadership article about imposter syndrome says the same thing: dispute it, push through it, power-pose your way past it.

Cut a mantra-groove in your brain: “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it people like me.”

The assumption, of course, is that imposter syndrome is a terrible thing to have.

Sometimes it is. And sometimes kicking it in the ‘nads is the right strategy.

But not always.

So here’s a couple of serious questions for those other times:

What if that voice isn't self-sabotaging or pathological?

What if it's doing exactly what it's supposed to do?

The Guardrail You're Trying to Dismantle

If someone asked me to perform surgery tomorrow, I'd say no. I’m not a surgeon, I hate the sight of blood, I never won at “Operation” as a kid. Get someone else.

Is that imposter syndrome?

Or just a healthy relationship with reality?

And yet we've lumped together those two very different situations under the same label.

There's the self-doubt that keeps you from doing things you're perfectly capable of.

And there's the healthy caution that says, "Hey, this matters. People are counting on you. Pay attention."

That second voice? I'd call it a guardrail, not a syndrome. (Especially if I’m the one on the operating table.)

When leaders step into new roles — a bigger team, a higher-stakes environment, a seat at a table they've never sat at before — they often feel a version of this. The voice that says you shouldn't be here; other people are so much better at this; wait until they find out that you’re a fraud.

The conventional advice is to silence that voice.

I think that's a mistake.

Three Ways to Work With the Voice Instead of Against It1. Thank it, then move anyway.

The voice is trying to protect you. It's reminding you that there are real stakes and real responsibility. Always a message worth keeping in mind.

But hearing it doesn't mean obeying it. You can acknowledge the risk and move forward. Feel the discomfort and act anyway.

Not recklessly, but intentionally.

Ground yourself with conscious breathing. Make a plan. Take people in. Focus on being curious rather than impressive.

Here's what happens when you do: you start collecting evidence that contradicts the voice.

You get through the meeting and people are pretty happy. Your top experts share their ideas, and you — new to role and in a bit over your head — take time to listen. You ask sharp questions. You encourage creativity and collaboration.

When you review your performance later, and you’re being honest, your brain registers a mismatch: Wait, the voice said I'm no good at this, but the evidence says otherwise.

Under the right conditions, your brain recalibrates. It steps back, slowly but surely, and lets you lead. And the part of you that’s curious, that’s creative, that’s collaborative — there ain’t no leadership better than that.

2. Shift from self-consciousness to service.

This is a power move. When you're focused on helping someone else, you “you-ness” fades into the background. Your own anxiety becomes a side show because it’s irrelevant to the task at hand.

Think about it: if you see someone trip and fall on the sidewalk, you don't stand there wondering, Am I qualified to intervene? Do I have my ten thousand hours of “helping someone up” training? Can I name all the muscles and tendons involved in this maneuver?

You just help. The impulse to serve cancels out the impulse to doubt.

The same principle applies in a boardroom, a team meeting, or a difficult conversation with a direct report. The moment you shift from How am I doing? to How can I help?, the “get me out of here before someone notices that I’m a large sentient insect” voice loses most of its power.

3. Get curious about the trigger underneath.

Sometimes the voice is louder than the situation warrants. When there's shame, anger, or fear that feels disproportionate to what's actually happening, that's a signal. Something from the past got stuck and never got resolved.

Michael Singer taught me to think of it like a thorn that’s embedded so deep it's covered with scar tissue. You can't see it anymore, but it still causes pain in certain situations.

When that happens, it's actually an opportunity. Slow down. Ask yourself: Where is this in my body? What are the words it's saying? Do I remember the earliest times I felt this way — in other words, can I pinpoint the original thorn, so I can bring awareness to it and extract it?

This is the deeper work — the kind that doesn't fit neatly into a listicle. And it's often the work that creates the most lasting change.

The Deeper Work

The leaders I admire most haven't eliminated self-doubt. They've developed a different relationship with it. They treat it as data, not as identity. They've learned to hear the voice, extract the useful information, and then choose their next move from a place of centered authority rather than reactivity.

That's not something you can hack with a morning affirmation. It requires genuine self-awareness, often supported by a coach or therapist, and the willingness to look at parts of yourself that would rather stay hidden.

But the payoff is enormous: you get to lead with both confidence and humility. You stay responsive to real risk without being paralyzed by imagined inadequacy. And you model for everyone around you that growth and self-doubt can coexist — which might be the most uplifting thing a leader can do.

If this resonates — if you've been white-knuckling your way through self-doubt rather than working with it — I'd love to hear your experience. Find me at howiejacobson.com. And if you're ready to explore what's really driving the voice, let's talk. That's the work I do with executives every day.