r/ThePauseSpace

I used to think “having it together” meant never letting anyone see the chaos.

Then I was humbled.

When my two youngest kids were under the ages of one and two, I was home on maternity leave trying to look like one of those moms blissfully doting on her little ones.

What I actually was… was exhausted.

I was running on 1–3 hours of sleep, probably hadn’t showered in days, and honestly couldn’t have spelled my own name confidently if my life depended on it.

One day, someone was stopping by unexpectedly to pick something up.

So naturally, I did the exhausted mom panic-clean:

• threw random stuff behind the couch
• tightened my ponytail
• tossed on a sweater because the baby feeders were swinging freely under my t-shirt
• tried to look like one of those moms who had her life together

Then I saw the truck turning onto the crescent.

Baby starts crying.
Dog starts whining.

I pick up the baby, prop him on my hip, and head for the door…

…and immediately discover why the dog was whining.

I stepped in dog crap.

Barefoot.

Now I’ve got:

• a crying baby
• warm squishy dog crap between my toes
• someone seconds away from arriving

Did I mention this person had OCD?

Like… wiping crumbs off the table while people are still eating level OCD.

So naturally, instead of acting like a normal person and asking for help…

I panic-hobbled to the bathroom, fussing baby on my hip, toes up, heel down, dunked my foot in the toilet repeatedly, wiped it off at lightning speed, and answered the door pretending everything was completely fine.

I smiled.
Made small talk.
Acted engaged.

Meanwhile, one foot was warm… the other freezing cold, slightly damp, and still spiritually connected to the dog crap squishing between my toes.

And honestly?

That moment explains my entire relationship with imposter syndrome.

I was literally standing in crap and still trying to convince people I had it together.

Like seriously… why didn’t I just ask for help?
It’s not like I crapped on the floor.

Why are we like this?

If you’ve ever found yourself thinking:

“Who let me in here?”

…while sitting in a meeting, leading a project, parenting, or just existing in adult clothes…

we could probably be besties.

I have an amazing team of 70 managers and front-line staff.

And sometimes I spiral wondering if I’m even the right person to lead them.

Am I encouraging enough?
Do they feel supported?
Do they know how capable they are?
Am I failing them completely without realizing it?

Because here’s the weird part:

I can remind other people they belong in the room all day long.

I can encourage them.
Support them.
Celebrate them.
Protect them from feeling like frauds.

But when it comes to me?

Absolutely not.

I don’t absorb compliments.
I’ll work 12-hour days to keep my word to everyone except myself.
And somehow I’m still shocked people trust me to lead anything.

Like… me?
The boss of 70?
Responsible for the safety of more than 200 people daily?

Do they not realize I’m still just a kid pretending to be a grown-up?
Spinning in my office chair when nobody’s looking and enjoying the clickity-clack of a tabletop calculator?

And the strangest part?

I genuinely am proud of my team.

They’re resilient, caring, hardworking humans who give the company the best parts of themselves.

But sometimes when I tell them:
“I’m proud of you”

…I feel like a fraud.

Not because I don’t mean it.

But because a part of me still thinks:
“Who am I to believe my words should matter to anyone?”

That realization sent me down a very long road trying to understand my own imposter syndrome.

And during that journey, I realized something surprising:

Some of the most successful people I’ve ever met still feel wildly unqualified.

They look confident.
Capable.
Put together.

Meanwhile internally they’re thinking:
“Hopefully nobody notices I have no idea what I’m doing.”

So they work harder.
Push harder.
Burn themselves out trying to earn a place they already had.

I know because I’m one of them.

And honestly?

I think that’s partly why I care so much about helping other people believe in themselves.

Because I know what it feels like to quietly believe you’re the exception.

One of the best compliments I’ve ever received from a member of my team was:

“I feel like I’ve worked here forever… not in a bad way. I just feel welcome and settled.”

And weirdly?

That compliment meant the most to me.

Because maybe the point isn’t pretending we have it all together.

Maybe the point is helping people feel safe enough to show up exactly as they are.

My brain turns minor social interactions into full psychological investigations where I am somehow:

• the reviewer
• the accused
• the witness
• and the prosecution

…all wrapped into one chaotic little bundle.

Did I use the right tone?
Did my face have subtitles?
Was I fidgeting?
Did it even make sense when I said the thing out loud?

Honestly, I feel like I’ve earned some obscure award for:
“Most Hours Spent Analyzing Conversations With Absolutely No Ability to Change the Outcome.”

Anyone else waiting to see if they’ve been nominated for this award?