Let's Silence Self-Doubt, Shall We?

Imposter syndrome. We know it, we loathe it.

If you’ve ever felt like a fraud-- whether teaching dance, running a studio, speaking at an industry event, or starting something new (like this blog!)-- you’re not alone. That feeling of self-doubt? It’s real. But with a little self-compassion, we can quiet that voice.

Imposter syndrome is that little whisper in your head that says, “You’re not good enough,” even when your resume could wrap around the block. It tries to convince you that your success is a fluke, not a reflection of your achievements.

In the dance world-- where everything is visual, often competitive, and deeply rooted in perfectionism-- imposter syndrome thrives. We’re constantly putting ourselves out there: in class, on stage, and online. No wonder that little whisper can feel deafening at times. But here’s the truth: we can turn down the volume by reconnecting with who we are and what we do.

So, who am I?

I’m a badass (and chances are, you are too). I run a successful business, foster creativity and self-worth in children, insist on kindness from my students and their families, and try to keep everyone sane in the process. My team and I teach dance, support our students on and off the stage, and show up day after day with passion and care. I've also been fortunate to speak at industry events, sharing hard-earned insights through seminars like "Small Studio Success", "Kind, Not Nice." and “Do No Harm. Take No Sh*t.” (my forever favorite).

I’d be lying, however, if I said that presenting to my peers hasn’t made me second-guess everything: Why would anyone listen to me? What if I forget what I want to say? What if someone challenges my expertise?

The thing is, asking those questions means I care, and that’s half the battle.

Then I remind myself why I’m there: connection. That’s the common thread in everything I do. Whether I’m teaching preschoolers or presenting to professionals, I’m there to connect, support, and share something meaningful. I believe that’s enough.

Still, starting this blog was intimidating. I've had to remind myself of something I've told my students, at minimum, a thousand times over the last 27 years: everyone starts somewhere. This blog doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be mine. I don't care to go viral. I care to be honest and, hopefully, help others in the process.

There’s power in owning our stories-- the messy parts, the magical parts, and everything in between. Our imperfections don’t make us imposters, they make us human. When we share openly, we give others permission to do the same.

The next time that little voice shows up to shake your confidence, pause. Remind yourself of everything you’ve worked for. Everything you’ve built. Everything you’ve become.

You’ve earned your place. Now go take up space.

Drop a comment below. Your story might be exactly what someone else needs to hear.