My palms are sweaty. My knees are weak. There’s no vomit on my sweater, but there might as well be with the way my nerves are screaming for some sort of release. It’s like the battle scene from 8 Mile, except I’m in a meeting room inside a New York agency and the only thing I’m battling is my own insecurity.
5 Tips for Kicking Imposter Syndrome to the Curb
We all go through it, but it doesn’t need to be like this
