Eighteen Years Ago Today, I Quit My Job and Stopped Living as a Real Impostor™
Eighteen years ago today, on September 7, 2007, I did one of the most courageous things I’ve ever done. I quit my job.
On paper, it was a good job. I was a Global Web Strategist for the world’s largest telecommunications company, pulling in a six-figure income. I wasn’t just good at the work, my clients loved me and even called me their “Web Guru.” While others faced the dreaded “layoff Thursdays,” I was getting job offers from other divisions.
But here’s the truth: it was killing me. I was burning out, not because I was working too hard. I mean I was, but the real problem was that my soul was out of gas.
The endless deadlines, the politics, the meaningless conference calls. The fact that I wasn’t inspired by the product or the mission. Even though I was successful by external measures, it felt like mediocrity compared to what I was here to do.
I also had my fair share of well-earned Impostor Syndrome during those nine years. Even with accomplishments and external validation, I still questioned if I was as good as they thought I was.
But underneath it all was something even more pressing: I actually knew that I didn’t belong there. What I longed for was alignment, authentic expression, and work that called on my true gifts.
Introducing the Real Impostor™
Most people have heard of Impostor Syndrome—the internalized belief that we’re not as intelligent, capable, or talented as others think we are, despite clear evidence to the contrary. It shows up in patterns like the Perfectionist, the Natural Genius, the Expert, the Soloist, or the Superhuman.
But there’s another, deeper layer I’ve come to see over years of coaching: the Real Impostor™.
The Real Impostor™ isn’t someone who doubts their abilities. The Real Impostor™ is someone who’s misaligned with what they’re doing.
They’re playing a role they know—consciously or semi-consciously—isn’t theirs to play. They’re an impostor to themselves.
The symptoms are subtle but corrosive:
A creeping lack of inspiration — you may be working hard, but the spark just isn’t there.
A loss of vitality — even with success, your energy feels drained instead of renewed.
Knowing deep down that you’re not expressing your greatest gifts.
Feeling that, although you’re successful by external measures, what you’re doing is still mediocre for you.
Knowing, at the deepest level, “This isn’t my purpose for being here.”
What can be tricky is distinguishing what’s really up for you. You can have Impostor Syndrome and also be a Real Impostor™. Or you might have one or the other — but not know which. It comes down to the symptoms. Do you feel like a fraud, or are you out of alignment — or both? If both, it’s the Real Impostor™ you need to pay the closest attention to.
And to be clear: there are absolutely times in life when we all do work that isn’t fully aligned. There’s no judgment in that. The opportunity is to pause and check in with yourself: are you simply in a season of doing what’s necessary, or are you living the Real Impostor™ life?
At its most entrenched, the Real Impostor™ can manifest as the Prostitute Survival Archetype.
I learned of this archetype years after I left my corporate job, and when I did, it was like a punch in the gut — recognizing myself in its description more than I wanted to admit. And to be clear, I use the word prostitute here in the technical, not pejorative, sense. The Prostitute is one of the four Survival Archetypes described by Caroline Myss, author of Anatomy of the Spirit.
It represents the ways we sometimes sell out our integrity, values, or authentic expression in exchange for safety and security. It looks like trading away authenticity, creativity, or integrity for protection. Staying hidden behind the scenes instead of expressing your true values and gifts.
The inner dialogue of the Prostitute Archetype sounds like this:
“I know this isn’t really aligned with my values, but at least I’m safe and being taken care of. It’s okay to compromise my integrity for security or financial reward.”
The theme here is simple: choosing safety over soul. And that’s exactly where I was in 2007.
The Leap
The pain of being misaligned finally outweighed the fear of leaving. So I quit. The subject line of my goodbye email was simple: “Quitting my job to follow my dreams.”
That was the day I stopped living as a Real Impostor™.
Eighteen Years Later
Looking back, that decision has defined my life. For 18 years I’ve been walking the path of alignment—sometimes stumbling, sometimes sprinting, but always choosing to be true to myself rather than safe in someone else’s version of success.
I’ve built a coaching practice and served hundreds of people. I’ve created my own body of work, including Leadership Essence™: The Leadership Blindspot (More on this soon!). I act as a coach, mentor, and thought partner to leaders, emerging leaders, innovators, and visionaries across the country.
Most recently, I’ve been delivering Impostor Syndrome workshops for groups, organizations, and teams to help unleash people’s brilliance in their workplaces.
Most importantly, I feel curious, creative, inspired, and aligned.
And here’s what I know now:
Impostor Syndrome lies to us telling us we’re not enough.
The Real Impostor™ is even more dangerous because it convinces us to settle for less than who we are.
The antidote is alignment, choosing to bring our true essence, presence, and values into the world.
Why This Matters
You don’t have to quit a corporate job to leave the Real Impostor™ behind. This was my path. But you do have to be willing to see where you’re playing a role that isn’t yours, where you’re trading authenticity for safety. Where you’re doing work you’re good at, maybe even great, but it’s still not the right role or place for you because your greatest gifts lie elsewhere.
So, I invite you to look at where the Real Impostor™ might be living in your life. Are the symptoms there? Under the symptoms, is there a quiet, or not so quiet , call for alignment? Or are you living a Real Impostor™ life?
Here’s to alignment. Here’s to courage. Here’s to what’s next.
-Michael
