Why Imposter Syndrome Hits Hardest When You're Winning

Have you ever nailed a big presentation at work, only to go home and lie awake wondering if it was all a fluke? Or landed that promotion you've been grinding for, and instead of celebrating, you're hit with this nagging voice saying, 'Who are you to deserve this?' If that sounds familiar, welcome to the club of imposter syndrome. It's sneaky, isn't it? It creeps in right when life's handing you wins, making you question everything. And for many of us in Nigeria, where success often feels like a high-stakes balancing act between family expectations, economic hustle, and cultural humility, it hits even harder.

Let's dive into why this happens, especially when you're on an upward trajectory. I'll share some real-talk insights, pull in examples that might resonate if you're navigating Lagos traffic dreams or Abuja's corporate climb, and wrap up with steps to shake it off. Because recognizing it's not just you is the first win.

Understanding Imposter Syndrome in the Nigerian Hustle

Imposter syndrome isn't some fancy psychological term—it's that gut-wrenching doubt that makes you feel like a fraud, no matter the evidence stacking up against it. Coined in the 1970s by psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes, it describes high-achievers who attribute their success to luck or deception rather than skill. But in Nigeria, where the word 'hustle' is practically a national anthem, this feeling gets amplified by our unique context.

Think about it: Growing up, many of us were raised with stories of underdogs triumphing through sheer grit. From folktales of the tortoise outsmarting the hare to modern tales of Nollywood stars rising from nothing, success is celebrated, but so is humility. Admit you're 'winning,' and suddenly aunties are asking if you're forgetting your roots. Add in the economic pressures—rising fuel prices, naira fluctuations—and that promotion or side gig breakthrough doesn't just feel personal; it feels precarious. One wrong move, and poof, it's gone.

I remember chatting with a friend, Chidi, a software developer in Enugu. He'd just aced a contract with a big telecom firm, his first major freelance win after years of coding late nights. But instead of popping champagne (or even affordable Malta), he told me, 'Bros, I dey fear say dem go soon discover say I no sabi anything.' That's imposter syndrome speaking, loud and clear, right at the peak of his achievement.

Why It Strikes When You're Winning: The Psychology Behind the Punch

Here's the twist: imposter syndrome doesn't ambush you during failures; it waits for those victory laps. Why? Because success raises the stakes. When you're just starting out, low expectations mean low pressure. But win once, and suddenly the bar's higher—for you, your peers, even your inner critic. Psychologists call this the 'fear of being exposed,' where past insecurities clash with present accomplishments, creating cognitive dissonance. Your brain, wired to protect you from risks, whispers, 'This can't be real; prepare for the fall.'

In Nigeria, this is compounded by our collectivist culture. Success isn't solo; it's tied to family, community, and legacy. Secure a scholarship abroad or launch a startup in Yaba's tech hub, and the weight of representing everyone back home intensifies those doubts. What if you fail and let them down? A study from the American Psychological Association notes that imposter feelings peak during transitions—like promotions or new ventures—because they're uncharted territory. For us, that might mean moving from a 9-5 in Port Harcourt to entrepreneurship amid ASUU strikes and power outages, where every win feels fragile.

The Spotlight Effect in High-Pressure Environments

Ever notice how, after a big win, everyone seems to be watching? That's the spotlight effect at play—our tendency to overestimate how much others scrutinize us. In Nigeria's competitive job market, where nepotism rumors swirl and merit-based wins are hard-fought, this effect is turbocharged. Take Aisha, a marketing exec in Kano. She led a campaign that boosted her company's sales by 30% during the festive season. Colleagues congratulated her, but she confided, 'I felt like they were all waiting for me to mess up the next one. Like, how did this Northern girl pull that off without connections?'

The irony? Her skills got her there, but the cultural narrative of 'pulling strings' made her question it. When you're winning, the spotlight feels blinding, turning internal doubts external. It's not paranoia; it's the brain's way of scanning for threats in a society where economic wins are rare and reversals common.

Success as a Threat to Your Identity

Another reason it hits hard now is that winning challenges your self-narrative. If you've built your identity around being the 'hardworking underdog,' sudden success disrupts that story. For many Nigerians, especially first-gen achievers, this is profound. You're the one who made it out of a village in Imo State or a cramped flat in Ikeja, but now? Boardrooms and investor meetings feel alien.

Consider the story of Emeka, a fintech founder I know. His app gained traction during the pandemic, securing seed funding from Lagos Angels. Yet, at the celebratory dinner, he was sweating bullets, thinking, 'These investors go soon see say na jollof-level code I write.' His win threatened the 'struggler' identity that fueled his drive, sparking imposter fears. Research from Harvard Business Review shows this identity clash is common among minorities and high-achievers in underrepresented fields—fitting for Nigeria's growing but underrepresented tech scene.

Real-Life Scenarios: When Wins Turn into Worry

To make this relatable, let's unpack a couple of scenarios straight from Nigerian life.

Imagine you're a teacher in Abuja, promoted to head of department after years of volunteering extra lessons despite erratic salaries. The win? Great. But imposter syndrome kicks in during your first staff meeting: 'Do they really think I can lead? What if the ministry cuts funding again?' Here, the promotion highlights systemic instability, making your success feel undeserved.

Or picture launching a small agribusiness in Ogun State, exporting garri to the diaspora. Orders roll in, banks notice, and suddenly you're pitching to investors. That high from the first big shipment crashes into doubt: 'Am I really an entrepreneur, or just lucky with family farmland?' In Nigeria's agriculture sector, where youth involvement is booming but infrastructure lags, these wins amplify fears of sustainability.

These aren't hypotheticals; they're echoes of conversations I've had. They show how imposter syndrome thrives on context—our resilience breeds doubt when rewards arrive.

Shaking It Off: Practical Strategies Tailored for Us

The good news? You can rewire this. It's not about silencing the voice overnight but turning down its volume. Here's actionable advice, grounded in what works for folks I've seen thrive.

Track Your Wins Like a Budget

Nigerians are pros at tracking data—think MTN airtime or market prices. Apply that to your achievements. Start a 'win journal.' After a success, jot down three specifics: what you did, skills used, and feedback received. Chidi, my developer friend, did this digitally via Google Sheets. When doubts hit post-contract, he reviewed entries: 'See, I debugged that API in under two hours— that's skill, not luck.' Over time, it builds evidence against the imposter narrative. Aim for weekly reviews, especially during economic dips when everything feels shaky.

Seek Your 'Truth Squad' – Local Support Networks

Isolation fuels doubt, but community combats it. In Nigeria, we thrive on 'oga' networks and women's groups. Build a truth squad: 2-3 trusted friends or mentors who call out your BS. For Aisha, it was her sister-circle WhatsApp group—lawyer, doctor, marketer—who reminded her of past campaigns during her post-win slump. Share vulnerabilities openly; in our culture, where 'no gree for anybody' is mantra, admitting doubt isn't weakness—it's strategic.

Action step: Schedule monthly check-ins. Discuss a recent win and their perspective. It normalizes the feeling, turning it from personal flaw to shared hustle reality.

Reframe Success Through Cultural Lenses

Our proverbs are gold for this. Remember 'The river that forgets its source will dry up'? Use it to reframe: Your wins are roots of past efforts, not flukes. Practice affirmations tied to Nigerian pride—'I am as resilient as the harmattan wind'—but make them specific. Emeka reframed by mentoring young coders in his startup; teaching solidified his expertise. Volunteer or share knowledge via platforms like Techpoint or local TEDx—proving your worth externally quiets internal noise.

Professional Boost: Therapy with a Local Twist

If it's intense, seek help. Nigeria's mental health scene is evolving—apps like MANI or counselors in Lagos hubs offer affordable sessions. Frame it as 'business coaching' if stigma worries you. Aisha tried cognitive behavioral techniques, challenging thoughts like 'I'm faking it' with evidence from her KPI reports. Start small: One session monthly, focusing on win-related triggers.

Wrapping Up: Your Wins Are Yours to Own

Imposter syndrome hits hardest when winning because that's when the world—and your mind—expects more, but deep down, you're still that kid dreaming big in Naija. It's a sign you're growing, not failing. By understanding its roots in our hustle culture, spotting it in daily scenarios, and applying these tailored steps, you can claim your successes without apology.

Takeaway time: This week, pick one strategy—journal a win, text your truth squad, or reframe a doubt. Small actions compound like compound interest in a stable economy (fingers crossed). You're not an imposter; you're the real deal, paving the way in a country full of potential. Keep winning, and let the doubts fade into the background noise of generators and goat sellers. You've got this.