Imposter syndrome – How being genuinely out of your depth can sometimes help your career
It’s common for school leaders to feel fraudulent in front of experienced colleagues – but becoming a headteacher can often mean having to temporarily be an imposter, says Dr Paul Heery…
I’m sure readers will be familiar with the phenomenon of ‘imposter syndrome’.
Commonly felt by individuals who have recently secured a new job or been promoted, it’s the inescapable feeling that you’ve somehow succeeded in advancing under false pretences – compounded by the fear that any moment you could be found out and sent back to your ‘rightful’ place.
Headteachers seem particularly vulnerable to this. Rarely have I spoken to a fellow head who hasn’t felt like an imposter at some point, particularly during the early stages of a new headship. For many of us, the feeling never fully goes away.
That’s partly down to the loneliness that comes with the job, partly because honest and impartial feedback is often hard to come by, and partly because many of us feel the need to present an air of competence that would be undermined by us suddenly asking, ‘ How am I doing?’
I’m no exception. I still vividly remember giving my most confident and reassuring smile to my new team, closing the door, sitting behind my desk and thinking, ‘ What the hell do I do now?’ No amount of time spent in SLT meetings, or even as an acting head, can prepare you for that ‘buck stops here’ feeling.
I’ve found it helpful to try and understand imposter syndrome, and have found comfort in appreciating that others have experienced it too – but with the benefit of hindsight, I realise now that actually, I really was an imposter.
Staying true
My first teaching job was at a London primary school back in 1988, at a time when London schools were finding it almost impossible to recruit. Through a combination of eagerness, luck and market forces, I made rapid progress. After just three years, I was invited to apply for a deputy headship by someone I got chatting to over coffee on a CPD course and was duly appointed.
As a new deputy head with responsibility for teaching and learning, I observed the teaching of wise and experienced colleagues, and gave them pointers for improvement, while storing away tips and techniques for improving my own teaching.
I then became a headteacher, nine years after first joining the profession, and spent the next four happy years in a challenging school surrounded by supportive and talented colleagues.
From there, I moved to an inner-city school that was in Special Measures. Thanks to wonderful support from school’s staff team, as well as colleagues at the local authority and neighbouring schools, we were able to make a difference. Six years later I became a local authority adviser.
That role saw me make frequent visits to great schools staffed by dedicated and skilled practitioners, during which I’d often think ‘That’s a good idea – I wish I’d done that when I was a headteacher.’ It was around this time that my experiences as an imposter began to grow.
Standing in a conference room, explaining to 200 headteachers how to implement a new National Strategy initiative I’d only read for the first time the day before. Carrying out a performance management review for a virtual school headteacher who’d already forgotten more about educating looked-after children than I could ever hope to learn.
Feeding back to members of the Education Select Committee about the challenges of running a small rural school, despite never having worked in a school that was either small, or indeed rural.
Thinking on my feet, reading everything I could, relying on great colleagues – that often got me through by the skin of my teeth. So long as I stayed true to my own values, and the values of the organisation I worked for, I felt I could contribute through a combination of hard work, showing willing and dumb luck.
A sense of panic
My ‘greatest’ imposter moment came relatively late in my career. I’d applied for a post leading a small trust, working across schools with a great deal of unrealised potential. The only problem was that the trust comprised two secondary schools and a sixth form.
Now, it’s not as if I’d never set foot in a secondary school before. Aside from attending one myself (albeit 30 years previously) I’d frequently worked alongside secondary colleagues – but with the best will in the world, you couldn’t call me an expert.
Having been successfully appointed, I found myself suddenly introduced to a whole host of new acronyms and abbreviations – BTECs, Ebacc, ALPS, NEETS. I knew I was one question away from my ignorance being exposed and my credibility being shattered before my new colleagues, all of whom quite reasonably assumed that the person leading their organisation had a competent working knowledge of the sector in which he was employed.
At those early meetings I was in constant danger of betraying a sense of (entirely justified) panic. Yet over time, of course, my expertise gradually grew and knowledge increased, to the point where I now feel confident enough to share these recollections publicly – but the memories are still vivid.
Privileged position
Now, I’m not naïve. On reflection, the privileges that so often accompany my race and gender are likely to have been a significant factor in some of the promotions I’ve gained throughout my career, especially early on. Not directly or overtly, and almost certainly not with the conscious knowledge of the people doing the appointing – but it’s there, nonetheless.
It’s regretful that it’s taken me until late in my career to recognise this, and to acknowledge the responsibility this places on me to make things better for others.
So what has my career as an imposter ultimately taught me? Firstly, that knowledge and skills can be acquired along the way, and that if you only ever wait until you’re completely ready to take the next step, it’s a step you’ll probably never take. A spell of ‘impostership’ is therefore inevitable, but no bad thing if you get the balance right.
Secondly, I’ve learnt that no matter how important any individual is, they’re only ever part of a team. It doesn’t matter if everybody in the team has the full range of knowledge and skills required – only that somebody does. Even when my knowledge gaps have been at their greatest, there’s always been something I could usefully contribute.
I’ve found that there are some attributes that can’t be described as skills, knowledge or experience, but which nevertheless make a huge difference to any leadership team.
Positivity and optimism are essential prerequisites for leadership, particularly when they’re in short supply elsewhere. Everyone wants people on their team who firmly believe that success is achievable, and can communicate this with a degree of infectiousness.
Loyalty and trustworthiness are similarly always noticed and appreciated. Every leader has to trust his or her team implicitly, otherwise open discussion and dialogue becomes impossible. Note that this doesn’t entail being a ‘yes’ man – on the contrary, honest opinions are crucially important, so long as they’re given at the right place, at the right time and before the right audience.
As leaders, whichever direction we take, we’ll always bring others with us. Forwards seems like the best option – since having bluffed our way into our position, we may as well make it count.
How to prosper as an ‘imposter’
By doing the following, you can start shedding the pretence and become the individual you want to be…
1 | Seize the initiative
If you want to do a job well, start doing it before you’re appointed. If you have aspirations to becoming a deputy head, volunteer for standard deputy head duties – assemblies, timetables, mentoring, policy development, sitting in on the next governors meeting. See this as an investment to be cashed in at a later date.
2 | Don’t let people down
Meet deadlines, contribute to meetings, check your emails and be a supportive colleague. When you finally secure that leadership role, you’ll value those colleagues you can depend on perform such seemingly mundane, yet vital tasks.
3 | Keep learning
Whether it’s through formal professional development, independent reading and reflection or engagement with peers on social media, we have to retain our curiosity and desire to learn. Failing to do so doesn’t mean we stay still; it means we go backwards.
Dr Paul Heery is CEO at The White Hills Park Trust; for more information, visit whptrust.org or follow @whptrust.
