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My working day begins with self-doubt. In fact, at this very moment, I have that feeling just behind my eyes you get when you’re about to burst into tears. That persistent numbness in my forelock is back, and so once more I am reaching for explanations.

Already my web browser has a dozen tabs open for journals from PubMed and Wiley, as I grapple to understand these apparent cognitive deficits and limits in executive function. Of course, I cannot prove that my incessant self-doubt has anything to do with this; it could just as easily be the outcome of formative experiences.

During a meeting with my new manager last week, they aptly noted that it seemed like I had been driven into a cul-de-sac in respect to my career. Very observant. That was apparent to me years ago, but I chose to be patient with my situation because I had a young family to support.

Perhaps another fitting metaphor would be a boat cut adrift, without any real direction, buffeted by the prevailing winds and tides alone. So I dared not rock the boat, lest I fall off it, returning to the fragile financial state that characterised the first years of my marriage. If I have now jumped from one deck to another, my footing remains cautious.

Still, my new manager is full of praise for me, confident of my abilities. Why, then, do these inner doubts linger? Too many missteps along the way, perhaps? Or a lack of training or continuing professional development? The feeling that I just fell into what I ended up doing for fifteen years? The belief that everything I do is built on shaky foundations?

All around me, people seem to be such experts in their respective fields. And me? What do I actually know, and what have I achieved? I feel limited by every lapse of judgement along the road to this point. What I would give to feel self-confident, and not forever regretful of all that led me here. What I would give to actually believe in myself.