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I don’t think I have imposter syndrome. I think I am an imposter. I also don’t think I deserve my salary, but I can’t say this because my family depends on me.

I’ve worked basically the same role for fifteen years now, and sometimes I wonder how. I didn’t set out with a plan. I didn’t study the right things. I wasn’t the standout candidate with a polished career path. It’s just the role I was granted. And so I stayed.

I tell myself it’s because others around me had bigger failings. Or because I’m just good at working around dysfunction. I’m not sure if that’s true, but it feels more believable than the idea that I might actually be good at something.

I’m not a brilliant developer. I’m confident with a front-end development stack, but I’m not a coder, really. I like the visual side — design, UX, UI. But often, that feels like a guilty pleasure rather than a strength.

But my job is about more than code. It’s product ownership. Accessibility guidance. Training. Server management. People come to me with questions, and often, I have answers. Maybe that’s worth something. Maybe the breadth of what I can do — even if none of it feels deep — has a kind of value too.

Still, I feel unfocused. I always have. At school, I was the slow, lazy one. The one who couldn’t keep up. I didn’t know then what I do now. I wonder how much of what people labelled as character flaws were really developmental differences. But even now, knowing what I know, I still struggle. I still drift. I still feel like I’m not doing enough.

I don’t push for more. I haven’t applied for anything in years. I don’t think I stand a chance, and perhaps I’m afraid of finding out. It’s easier to sit still than to risk proving my worst thoughts about myself.

And yet, there are things I do that seem to matter. I care about users — real people trying to get things done. I care about accessibility, even when no one else is thinking about it. I try to make things clearer, easier, kinder. Those are small things, but they’re not meaningless. Perhaps this quiet way of working has more impact than I give it credit for.

I don’t know if I remain because I’m competent or just careful. I don’t know if I deserve my salary, or if I’m just good at hiding the gaps. But something’s kept me going. People trust me with things. Maybe not because I’m the best, but because I’m consistent, or dependable.

So perhaps this isn’t fraud. Perhaps it’s what doing your best looks like when you’re constantly doubting yourself. I may not be the only person who feels this way.

So perhaps, over time, I can learn to live with this uncertainty instead of being crushed by it. And maybe staying is something. Could it be that I’m not a total fraud, after all.