For the past four weeks, I have been wrestling with something many professionals experience but few openly talk about: imposter syndrome.

On paper, my career transition felt like a positive step forward. I recently left a position at a small managed services provider (MSP) and started a new role in local government. In many ways, it felt like a return to familiar territory – structured, mission-driven work connected to public service.

But almost immediately, something else began to surface: doubt.

Imposter syndrome has a way of appearing during transitions. When we step into a new role, new expectations, and new environments, we naturally start questioning ourselves.

During my first few weeks in my new role, I naturally opted to be more observant rather than assertive, watching the different personalities across various teams, and learning the landscape. Despite years of professional experience across multiple sectors, I scrutinized my own technical abilities more closely than usual. I wondered if others saw me as more capable than I truly was. That quiet internal voice whispered, “What if they realize you don’t belong here?”

I know many high-performing colleagues experience this. Achievements feel disconnected from internal confidence, and even when there is evidence of competence, self-doubt still creeps in.

The Transition

The shift was more than a new title; it was a total environmental shock. For the past five years, I had grown used to the intimacy – and the chaos – of small startups. My professional world existed on a screen in the comfort of my home. Suddenly, I was thrown back into being a small cog in a massive 1,600-employee government machine.

Even though the public sector was familiar, the adjustment was more jarring than expected. I had to establish a new morning routine, drive into work every day, and be around co-workers all day. I was also learning a new language where everyone else was already fluent. I was learning new systems, navigating different personalities, and adapting to different expectations.

Don’t get me wrong, the “newness” was exciting, and yet, overwhelming at the same time. The first two weeks were exhausting! I had forgotten how much energy it takes to be “on” all day in office setting. Now, coupled with imposter syndrome, I had yet to find my footing. However, by week three, I began pushing back against the doubt and started asserting myself by asking to shadow some teammates – asking my supervisor first, of course, as I was unsure of such protocols. And by week four, I finally felt the momentum shifting. I started to feel like I was actually catching on. Until…

The Unexpected Outcome

This is the part that is still hard to say out loud: the story doesn’t end with me finding my footing. It ends with a blindside.

At the end of week four, I went into my weekly scheduled 1:1 meeting with my supervisor. I believed we were there to review the agenda for an upcoming project meeting that afternoon. Instead, I was met with her and HR, and I was terminated on the spot.

I was then subjected to the “perp walk” – escorted by two security officers to my desk to collect my belongings and then escorted out of the building. I know it’s just “protocol”, but that doesn’t stop it from feeling like a public shaming. The HR paper I was handed called this a “probationary release” – a generic phrase that offered ZERO explanation for the gravity of the moment.

In my shocked silence of my walk of shame, my imposter found its “truth”. The whispers became a deafening roar:

• They were right.
• I really don’t belong here.
• I wasn’t as capable as I thought.

When an external shock aligns with your internal fear, it is no longer doubt. It’s an exposed reality.

Sitting in the Moment

As I write this, I am still in shock.

A 30-day chapter is incredibly short in the context of a career, yet emotionally it feels enormous. There is the abruptness of the ending, the unanswered questions, and the disorienting feeling of having to immediately rethink what comes next.

Instead of confidently stepping into a new phase of work, I find myself pausing in an unexpected space – processing what happened and while imagining what the next chapter might look like.

I don’t have a polished lesson to wrap this up. All I have right now is uncertainty and the awareness that imposter syndrome can become especially powerful when circumstances seem to reinforce it.

I also know that the shock will settle. Perspective will return. Eventually, the next chapter will take shape.

For now, the work is simply allowing myself the space to process the experience while remembering that one unexpected ending does not define my entire story.

It’s just a (mini) chapter I didn’t see coming.