Who Am I to Be Here?
Imposter syndrome, lived experience, and speaking in systems that weren’t built for us
By Jade Blue
Imposter syndrome is often treated as a private insecurity - something to overcome quietly before you show up publicly. But in advocacy, it isn’t a side issue. It’s part of the work.
It shows up not because you’re underqualified, but because the ground is unstable. Advocacy often asks people with lived experience to translate pain into policy language, to compress years of harm into a few minutes of “constructive contribution,” and to speak calmly about systems that failed them - repeatedly. That tension creates doubt.
You start to question whether your voice is too personal to be useful, or too emotional to be taken seriously. You wonder if you’re overstepping, or whether someone more polished, more academic, more institutionally fluent would say this better. You second-guess yourself even as people invite you to speak.
And because advocacy culture rewards confidence, imposter syndrome becomes something you’re expected to outgrow - as though visibility or access should make doubt disappear.
It doesn’t.
When Lived Experience Enters Professional Space
There’s a particular kind of imposter syndrome that appears when lived experience enters professional or political rooms.
You’re invited because of what you’ve lived - but once you arrive, you’re expected to perform credibility on unfamiliar terms. To be objective about harm you’re still processing. To avoid being “too critical.” To package experience as insight - not accusation.
The balance is impossible:
Be authentic, but not disruptive.
Be honest, but not angry.
Be personal, but not subjective.
So doubt creeps in.
Many advocates quietly ask themselves: Am I helping - or just reliving this in public? Do I belong here, or am I tolerated because my story is useful right now?
These questions don’t signal failure. They’re a rational response to spaces that weren’t designed with survivors in mind.
Doubt as Care
Advocacy often rewards confidence - but confidence isn’t the same as care, or truth.
People with lived experience hesitate because they carry responsibility: to themselves, to others, to the accuracy of what they’re saying. They know how easily harm can be misrepresented or dismissed.
In that context, imposter syndrome isn’t a flaw.
It’s what care looks like inside systems that prefer certainty.
The Work Is Unstable - So Belonging Feels Unstable Too
Advocacy isn’t linear. Momentum comes in bursts, followed by silence, delay, or quiet resistance. You can be invited into the room one week and ignored the next. Praised publicly and sidelined privately.
That instability makes it hard to anchor your sense of belonging. You start to wonder whether your place is permanent or conditional - whether you’re valued for your perspective or the optics of inclusion.
Imposter syndrome feeds on that uncertainty.
You Don’t Need to Earn Your Voice
Here’s the part that matters most: lived experience does not need to be legitimised through perfection.
You don’t need the right tone, timing, or approval. You don’t need to have all the answers. You don’t need to be healed, composed, or certain.
Advocacy isn’t about presenting a flawless narrative. It’s about insisting that real experiences belong in the rooms where decisions are made.
If you sometimes feel unsure, that doesn’t undermine your contribution. It often means you’re approaching the work with care.
Staying Anyway
Many advocates stay not because the doubt disappears, but because the issue matters more than the discomfort.
Imposter syndrome doesn’t mean you don’t belong.
It often means you’re standing where systems are being tested.
And maybe the goal isn’t to eliminate doubt - but to recognise that you can carry it and keep going.
Final Thought
If you find yourself asking Who am I to do this? - pause there.
That question doesn’t disqualify you.
It situates you.
You don’t need permission to belong in this work.
You already do.
We change systems by showing up honestly, even when
confidence comes second.
