Why Imposter Syndrome in Midlife Is a Whole Different Beast: Are You Too Old to Be a Beginner?

You’ve lived. You’ve raised humans, held hands through loss, filed divorce papers, started side hustles, and rage-quit more than one group chat. You know your worth, or you suspect it. You’ve fought for your peace. You’ve become the person people turn to when the sky cracks open.

So why—when you sit down to build something new, something brave, something just for you—do you suddenly feel like you don’t belong at your own damn table?

Imposter Syndrome in Midlife Doesn’t Whisper. It Hisses.

This version doesn’t say, “You’re not good enough.” It says, “You’re too old to be this bad at something.” And worse:

“Who are you kidding, trying this now?” You’re used to being competent. Respected. The grown-up in the room. So when you fumble through something new—like embedding a form, setting up a payment portal, or figuring out what the hell a plugin is—it doesn’t just feel awkward. It feels humiliating.

Because at this stage in life? You’re supposed to know what you’re doing.

And now? You’re a beginner again.

Being a Beginner at This Age Requires a Kind of Courage Nobody Talks About.

It takes humility. It takes willingness to feel frustration, risk embarrassment, face emotions that got put away decades ago.

It takes swallowing the pride you’ve earned and saying, “I don’t know how to do this… but I’m going to learn.” That’s no small ask.

You’re not some bright-eyed twenty-something cutting your teeth in a new job. You’re a whole grown ass woman with stretch marks, scars, and receipts. You’ve survived more than most. You shouldn’t have to be bad at something again.

But if you want to grow? You have to start over anyway. And that identity dissonance? That’s the earthquake beneath your feet.

What Makes This Version So Brutal

It’s not just the tech…but that is insanely hard for me. It’s not the Canva disaster you spent 40 minutes trying to undo.

It’s not the monetization rabbit holes or the SEO breakdowns.

It’s the sudden collapse of your self-perception. The way you look around and think, “I used to run a company. Now I’m crying over button settings?”

That’s not just frustration. That’s grief. The grief of being new again when you thought you’d finally earned the right not to be.

We Were Promised Mastery. We Got Reboots.

We were told that with age comes ease. Who said? Maybe we assumed. That if you worked hard and did things right, there would be a point where life just… clicked. Instead, life said: Here’s another plot twist. Hope you packed snacks.

So let’s say this out loud:

Being new at something is not shameful.

It’s sacred.

It means you’re still becoming, still curious, still with wonder. It means you’re brave enough to choose growth over comfort, clarity over control, aliveness over autopilot. It means you are Spicy Living.

The Real Imposter Isn’t You.

The real fraud isn’t the woman trying something new. It’s the one pretending she doesn’t want more. It’s the version of you that says, “I’m fine. This is fine.” While your soul’s pounding on the walls, asking if this is really all there is.

Listen, being a beginner doesn’t make you foolish, although it can feel that way. It makes you awake. And spicy living? Doesn’t come with a certificate of mastery. It comes with permission to try again. To rebuild. To reinvent.

Here’s the Part That’s Still True, Even Through the Tears

Today, I cried at my laptop. A lot and for most of the day. We have not been getting along lately. The overwhelm is real. The tears, the frustration, the brick walls. The voices of my MidLife Imposter Syndrome seems pretty mean. And right as I thought about starting over, that voice showed up again: “What makes you think you can do this?”

I don’t have a polished answer. But I do have a response:

I’m doing it anyway.

Afterthought: The Imposter Isn’t the Enemy. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you the story I never planned to share—the one where my imposter syndrome began. It started in third grade with a fake name, a classroom full of kids, and a moment that’s shaped me ever since.