The Wounds of Excellence: When Imposter Syndrome Meets Anointing

There’s a strange ache that comes with being excellent in a world that often rewards mediocrity—and punishes difference.

I’ve felt it more than once. It’s that moment when you’ve done everything right, exceeded every expectation, and still feel like you have to prove you belong. Or worse—pretend you don’t.

I didn’t always have language for it. But lately, I’ve been naming it for what it is: imposter syndrome dressed in church clothes. And oddly enough, it’s the story of David—the giant-slayer turned madman-in-hiding—that brought it all together for me.

The Descent: From Chosen to Chased

In 1 Samuel 21, David finds himself in a strange place. He’s been anointed. He’s defeated Goliath. He’s served faithfully. And still… he’s on the run. The very excellence that once elevated him has now made him a threat.

So when he arrives in Gath and overhears whispers of fear and suspicion, David does what many of us do under pressure:

He pretends to be someone he’s not.

He lets spit run down his beard. He claws at doors like a madman. He shrinks his identity for survival.

It’s wild, isn’t it? That the same man who stood tall with a slingshot now has to slump low just to be safe.

And yet—I get it.

When Excellence Feels Like a Burden

One of the most disorienting seasons of my life was the one that should have felt like a high point. I had just graduated from Officer Training School. I was now a commissioned officer in the Air National Guard. On paper, it was a huge milestone. A victory.

But inside? I felt like I was faking it.

I didn’t glide through OTS. I struggled. Physically, I had to push beyond my limits. Mentally, I wrestled with doubt. And emotionally, I carried the weight of knowing this wasn’t my first try. I’d applied for five officer positions before I was finally selected. My test scores weren’t top-tier. My confidence was bruised before I ever stepped into that graduation ceremony.

So when I returned to my home unit—a place where I used to feel known and grounded—I felt like a stranger in my own skin. My uniform had changed. My title had changed. But I hadn’t caught up with my new identity.

People were congratulating me, even joking: “Look at you now—we’ve gotta salute you!” It was meant to be lighthearted. But for me, it triggered something deep and raw. I felt exposed. Like I didn’t deserve the recognition. Like their praise was a spotlight I wasn’t ready for.

So I hid.

I avoided crowds. I sidestepped attention. I tried not to be seen.

Not because I wasn’t proud—but because I didn’t feel worthy.

That’s what imposter syndrome does. It convinces you that you slipped in through the side door of your own success. That your wins are temporary. That someone, any moment now, is going to call you out and say, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Just like David—anointed, victorious, and still pretending—I found myself shrinking in a season where I should have been standing tall.

The Tyranny of Competence

There’s a quiet pressure that builds when you’re good at what you do. You become the one who always delivers, always leads, always holds it together. And before you know it, competence becomes a cage.

You’re relied on, but rarely relieved. You’re celebrated, but not seen.

But God sees.

And what He calls us to isn’t performance—it’s purpose.

He didn’t anoint David to survive in fear. He didn’t raise him up to play small. And He hasn’t brought us through transformation just to shrink back into old habits or hide behind old tools.

Letting Go of the Canoe

There’s a metaphor from a sermon I can’t shake: “You have to leave the canoe when you hit the mountain.” The tools that worked in the last season—overthinking, overpreparing, overcompensating—might have helped you survive. But they won’t help you lead.

And that’s hard to accept.

It’s scary to drop the act. To stop pretending. To trust that God is enough—and that you are too.

But this is what faith looks like in real time:

Letting go of the fear that makes you perform and embracing the identity that calls you to purpose.

Reflection Questions

• Have you ever felt pressure to shrink who you are to make others comfortable?
• What tools are you holding onto that once kept you safe but are now keeping you stuck?
• Where have you made deep change—and where are you still performing?

A Prayer

God, help me to stop pretending.

Strip away the fear that makes me act small and the doubt that keeps me from owning my anointing.

Show me how to walk in excellence without apology.

Give me courage to let go of the tools that no longer serve me, and trust You with the next season.

Amen.