I almost didn’t hit publish.
Not because I didn’t believe in God. Not because I didn’t know He called me. But because I still heard the whispers in my head: “You just messed up the other day, who are you to write anything?” “You’re still struggling in some areas, stay quiet until you’re fully healed.” “Nobody’s going to listen to you anyway.”
That’s how imposter syndrome works—quiet, shameful, and spiritual. And if we’re not careful, we’ll start agreeing with it more than we agree with God.
The Silent Battle Most Women Don’t Talk About
Imposter syndrome doesn’t always look like insecurity. Sometimes it looks like perfectionism. Sometimes it looks like constant delays. Sometimes it looks like hiding behind motherhood, not because you’re being present, but because you’re avoiding purpose.
For me, it showed up when God told me to start my blog. I made every excuse in the book. I nitpicked every detail. I said it wasn’t ready when the truth was—I didn’t think I was ready.
I didn’t feel whole enough to help anyone.
I didn’t feel healed enough to speak.
I didn’t feel seen enough to be called.
When the Voice of Your Past Shapes the Volume of Your Present
Growing up, getting anything lower than a B wasn’t acceptable. I was taught that effort wasn’t enough—excellence was expected. And excellence quietly became perfection. Over time, I believed that love had to be earned. That affirmation had to be performed for. That I had to be polished, impressive, and put together before I could be seen or celebrated.
So now as a grown woman, I still feel like I can’t put anything out unless it’s “perfect.” I still wrestle with wondering if my voice matters. I still feel the need to wrap my testimony in a pretty bow—but what if the power is in the mess?
Arguing with God While Carrying Oil
The first time I received a prophetic word about who God called me to be, I fought it. I flat-out told the man of God, “That’s not who I am.” A few years later, when God Himself confirmed it, I argued again. “You sure you meant to say that to me?” More prophetic words followed, and each time, I resisted—because I couldn’t reconcile being called with still feeling cracked.
But the moment came when I had to make a decision: Will I believe God, or will I stay loyal to my trauma?
God’s call on my life didn’t ask me to be perfect—just to believe Him. And even though I still wrestle, I’m learning to come into agreement with what He says about me.
The Soundtrack of Fear
Imposter syndrome doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it mocks.
It sounds like your own voice saying, “Keep your mouth shut, you’re still struggling.”
It sounds like the imagined laughter of family members watching you try and fail.
It sounds like a racing heartbeat before doing the very thing you’re called to do.
It sounds like excuses dressed in logic.
It sounds like shame, but it’s rooted in fear.
What It Really Was: Disobedience in Disguise
Imposter syndrome made me delay the blog. It made me quit the healing team at church. It made me say “next time” when God said “NOW.” It made me choose tv over writing and call it “rest.” It made me hide behind motherhood and call it “being present.” It made me say I didn’t have the money when it cost nothing but faith.
I didn’t delay because I didn’t love God—I delayed because I was in bondage to inadequacy. I thought obedience required perfection. But the truth is: obedience is the cure to imposter syndrome.
If I Could Tell Her Anything…
I’d tell the woman who’s frozen by fear:
Sis, God has need of you.
He has need of your voice.
He has need of your story.
He has need of the cracks in your heart you’ve tried to hide.
He has need of the oil that came from your crushing.
Imposter syndrome is a spiritual bully on assignment from hell to keep you stuck. But the only thing that’s fraudulent is the enemy’s voice. Cast it down. Submit it to the truth of God’s Word.
You don’t have to feel ready. You just have to say yes.
The Process Behind the Oil
Being “anointed” isn’t some deep church phrase. It’s spiritual, yes—but it’s also costly.
Like real olive oil, the anointing comes through process:
Washed. Crushed. Pressed. Separated. Filtered.
You don’t carry oil because you’ve been perfect. You carry oil because you’ve survived the crushing—and still chose Jesus.
What’s Changed Since I Said Yes
The fear still tries to whisper, but I show up bolder.
I know now that even without applause, I’m assigned.
Even without support, I’m sent.
Even if it’s not pretty, it’s still purpose.
Even if I don’t feel like “her,” I am still her.
This blog cost me something. This oil cost me something. And I can’t afford to sit on what God pressed out of my life. Imposter syndrome still tries—but it has to bow to the name of Jesus. Every time I choose obedience, fear loses its voice.
To the woman reading this:
You’re not a fraud.
You’re a daughter who carries oil.
And Hell knows it.
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