Imposter Syndrome at Director Level: Why It Gets Louder as You Get More Senior

You'd think imposter syndrome would ease off once you'd made Director. You've run budgets, built teams, sat in front of boards and survived more than one restructure. Surely by now the evidence speaks for itself?

For most senior leaders I work with, it does the opposite. The step up to Director, VP or the executive committee is often when the doubt gets loudest. The new remit is bigger, the room is more exposed, and the people around the table all seem to know exactly what they're doing.

I know the feeling from the inside. Early in my coaching career, the doubt was partly justified: I genuinely didn't have all the answers yet. I worked at it until I did, and the feeling faded. Years later it came back, not because I'd got worse, but because I'd drifted. I'd been distracted by side projects and lost focus on the one thing that mattered, which was getting clients clear results. When I refocused, the doubt eased again.

That cycle taught me something useful. Imposter syndrome isn't a box you tick once. It returns at every level, and the skill is learning to recognise it and keep it out of the driving seat.

Why seniority makes it worse, not better

The term was coined in 1978 by psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes, who noticed high achievers putting their success down to luck, timing or other people's goodwill. Later research found it across genders, industries and levels, with estimates suggesting around 70% of people experience it at some point.

Three things make it sharper at senior level:

• The work is less measurable. As an individual contributor you could point to output. As a leader, your results arrive through other people, so the link between your effort and the outcome feels looser.
• The stakes are visible. A board paper, a town hall, a difficult conversation with the CEO: mistakes happen in public.
• You know more about what can go wrong. Experts see the risks and gaps that novices miss. That awareness is a sign of competence, but the brain reads it as evidence of inadequacy.

The story you tell yourself

On the outside, you look composed. On the inside, a quiet commentary runs on repeat: I'm too much of a generalist for this. Someone on the board will ask something I can't answer. I only got here because the last Director left.

Those thoughts feel like honest self-assessment. They're not. They're a story, and the brain is very good at finding evidence for whatever story it's been given. One shaky presentation becomes "I'm not a strong presenter". One programme that slipped becomes "I'm out of my depth at this level". Good results get filed under luck or a strong team. Weak moments get filed under who you really are.

That's why reassurance rarely works. Reading your CV doesn't shift the feeling, because the problem was never a lack of facts. It's a narrative that has learned to ignore them.

What it isn't

Imposter syndrome isn't humility. Humility is an accurate view of your strengths and limits. Imposter syndrome distorts that view, magnifying the limits and deleting the strengths.

It also isn't proof that you're in the wrong job. People who genuinely lack competence rarely worry about it. The Dunning-Kruger effect describes exactly this: the least capable tend to be the most confident. If you're anxious about doing a senior role well, that's usually a sign you care about doing it properly.

When it costs you

The real damage isn't the discomfort. It's the decisions it makes on your behalf. I regularly see capable leaders:

• Not applying for a COO or MD role because they meet eight of the ten criteria
• Accepting the first offer in a salary negotiation because pushing back feels presumptuous
• Staying in a role they've outgrown because a move would mean being "found out" somewhere new
• Over-preparing for every meeting and burning out quietly

A practical way forward

The aim isn't to get rid of self-doubt entirely. A bit of it keeps you curious and sharp. The aim is to stop it making your career decisions.

• Build an evidence file. Write down specific outcomes, not impressions: revenue influenced, costs taken out, teams built, problems solved. Read it before interviews, appraisals and pay conversations, when the doubt is loudest.
• Track progress weekly. A short note of what went well trains your attention. Confident people aren't always more talented; they're more deliberate about noticing progress.
• Drop the perfection standard. Growth feels like not knowing. That discomfort is what new territory feels like, not a verdict on whether you belong there.
• Name the voice and move on. When the commentary starts, acknowledge it and redirect. Don't debate it.
• Talk to yourself as you'd talk to a capable colleague. Not false confidence, just a calmer and more accurate account.
• Take one concrete step. Apply for the role. Send the message. Ask for the number you want. Confidence is rebuilt by evidence, and evidence comes from action.

The point

The leaders who handle career transitions best aren't always the most technically gifted. They're the ones with an accurate picture of the value they bring, who can say it out loud even when part of them wants to play it down.

You don't need to feel like the most impressive person in the room. You need to believe that what you bring is real, earned and worth something to the right organisation. That belief is built deliberately, starting with taking your own track record seriously.

If you're weighing up your next move, book a free 20-minute clarity call. No pitch, just a clearer view of where you are and what to do next.