The Inner Critic That Follows You Into the C-Suite

You'd think imposter syndrome would disappear by the time you reach the senior leadership table. You've been validated repeatedly. Promoted, trusted with bigger roles, given more responsibility. The evidence of your competence is extensive.

And yet. There's that voice. The one that says you got lucky. That you're about to be found out. That everyone else in this room belongs here more than you do. Imposter syndrome doesn't disappear with seniority. It just gets quieter and more sophisticated. It stops shouting "you're a fraud" and starts whispering "you're not quite enough."

Why Seniority Makes It Worse, Not Better

Counterintuitively, the higher you go, the more fertile the ground for self-doubt.

At junior levels, the competence bar is relatively clear. You know what good looks like because you can see it in the work: the analysis is thorough, the code runs, the client is satisfied. At senior levels, the work becomes ambiguous. Strategic decisions take months or years to validate. The impact of your leadership is indirect, filtered through teams and systems. You can't point to a deliverable and say "I made that."

This ambiguity is where the inner critic thrives. Without clear, immediate evidence of success, doubt fills the space.

Alexander had been a CEO for four years when he first admitted, in a coaching session, that he regularly questioned whether he was the right person for the role. "Every board meeting, I prepare twice as much as I need to. Not because the board demands it. Because I'm terrified of being asked something I can't answer." His preparation was impressive. His motivation was fear.

The other factor: isolation. The loneliness of senior leadership means fewer reality checks. You can't turn to a peer and say "am I doing this right?" without risking your authority. So the inner critic operates unchallenged, in a sealed chamber where no external voice can counter it.

What the Inner Critic Actually Does

Left unmanaged, imposter syndrome at senior levels doesn't just create emotional discomfort. It drives specific leadership behaviours that damage teams and organisations.

Over-preparation. Like Alexander, you spend disproportionate time preparing for scenarios that probably won't happen. This isn't thoroughness. It's anxiety management. And the time it consumes comes from somewhere, usually strategic thinking, relationship building, or rest.

Risk avoidance. If you believe you got here by luck, you protect what you have rather than reaching for more. You avoid decisions that could expose you if they go wrong. You choose the safe option over the bold one, not because it's better, but because failure would confirm the story you're telling yourself.

Difficulty accepting success. When things go well, the inner critic reattributes the outcome. The team did the work. The market was favourable. The timing was lucky. Every success is explained away, which means the evidence base for your competence never grows, no matter how much you achieve.

Overwork as proof of worth. Working harder than everyone else becomes the insurance policy. If you outwork everyone, the inner critic has less ammunition. But this creates a leadership model built on endurance rather than judgment, and it eventually breaks.

Managing It (Not Eliminating It)

The goal isn't to silence the inner critic entirely. Some degree of self-questioning is healthy. Leaders who never doubt themselves are often the most dangerous ones in the room. The goal is to prevent self-doubt from driving your decisions.

Name it when it shows up. The inner critic operates most effectively in the shadows. When you notice the familiar spiral ("I should know the answer to this, what if they realise I don't?"), label it. "That's the imposter narrative." Naming it creates distance. Distance creates choice.

Separate feeling from evidence. Feeling like a fraud and being a fraud are not the same thing. When the inner critic speaks, ask: "What's the evidence for this?" Not the feeling. The evidence. In most cases, the evidence contradicts the feeling overwhelmingly. But the feeling is so loud that you never thought to check.

Build a small circle of truth-tellers. A coach. A peer outside your organisation. A trusted advisor. Someone who can say "I see your work. It's strong. The doubt is lying to you." This isn't validation-seeking. It's counter-intelligence against a narrative that operates without external input.

Track your decisions. Keep a simple record of significant decisions you make and their outcomes over six months. When the inner critic says "you're not capable," the record says otherwise. Evidence is the antidote to narrative.

Recognise the hygiene threshold. If you were genuinely failing, the evidence would already be showing up. Teams disengage. Results decline. Stakeholders start asking pointed questions. The absence of those signals isn't nothing. It's data. Yes, there's always room to refine your judgment, try a different approach, adjust course. That's what leadership is. But the impulse to improve is not the same as being inadequate. Improvement assumes a foundation worth building on. You have that foundation. And from that steadier ground, you can keep learning without burning through your reserves trying to prove, every single day, that you deserve to be here.

Imposter syndrome at the senior level isn't a sign of weakness. It's often a sign of conscientiousness, of taking the role seriously enough to question whether you're doing it justice. The leaders who manage it best aren't the ones who feel no doubt. They're the ones who've learned to act despite it.