It feels uncomfortable to celebrate our own accomplishments, doesn’t it?
Especially for women — for high-achieving women — it can feel almost off-limits to own what we’ve worked so hard for.
Maybe we celebrate quietly, at home with the people who know us best. Because that feels safe.
But at work? On stage? In the boardroom? Oh man… on social media? Eek.
What is it about putting ourselves out there — even when we’ve done something amazing — that feels so vulnerable?
As it turns out, it’s not just in our heads. There are inner stories we’ve learned to believe and outer systems that quietly reinforce them.
But here’s the good news: once we can see those patterns for what they are, we can start to shift them — and when we do, it changes everything.
- For us.
- For our teams.
- And for the culture we lead in.
So today, I want to talk about what’s really behind that hesitation — why so many of us downplay success even when we’ve earned every bit of it.
Because it’s not just humility. It’s a mix of old habits, hidden narratives, and the systems we work in.
From the quiet voice of impostor syndrome, to the cultural conditioning that tells women to shrink, to the environments that still make confidence look like arrogance — it’s all connected.
The Impostor Phenomenon — “Did I really earn this?”
Both internally and systemically, the impostor phenomenon has almost validated our feelings of inadequacy — as if it’s righteous or reasonable to believe we don’t deserve our success. That it’s okay to write off achievement as luck, timing, or someone else’s help.
The term was coined back in 1978 by psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes, who studied high-achieving women that, despite impressive accomplishments, “maintain a strong belief that they are not intelligent,” fearing they’ll eventually be “found out.”[1]
And decades later, the story hasn’t changed much.
Women in competitive, male-dominated fields — like medicine — continue to carry this burden of self-doubt.
Now, let’s be clear: that feeling of self-questioning is universal. Everyone second-guesses themselves. We all seek reassurance, feedback, mentorship — no matter our gender or background.
But for women, it’s compounded by the reality that there are simply fewer role models who look like us. And too often, our competence, our leadership, or even our demeanor are questioned in ways our male peers never experience.
Honestly, I’ve lived this.
In medical school and residency, I was climbing leadership ranks quickly — within my state organization and the American Medical Association. But the higher I rose, the fewer women I saw around me. And certainly none in the generations ahead.
I remember wondering — why me? Was it because I was articulate? Because I was pleasant? Did I just happen to know the right people? I couldn’t quite believe I had earned the recognition.
Years later, when I became Chief, that voice was still there. I told myself I probably got the job because no one else wanted it. Sure, I knew I worked hard — but was I really the most qualified?
By that point, I had women mentors and leaders I deeply admired. I studied them, learned from them, and tried to emulate their presence and wisdom.
But did I see myself as one of them? Not quite. I wanted to. I worked hard to. I went to every leadership training, devoured every podcast, read every book. I did all the things to feel “enough.”
I kept waiting to feel worthy, until I finally understood…
Worthiness isn’t something you earn; it’s something you decide.
Internalized Undervaluing — “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
Then there’s our own internalized undervaluing.
Many of us were raised to deflect praise and to highlight teamwork over individuality.
And while collaboration is one of our greatest strengths, it can also blur ownership.
How many times have you responded to a compliment with something like, “Oh, it was a group effort,” or “Honestly, anyone could’ve done it”?
Psychologists call this the self-attribution gap — women tend to credit success to external factors but blame failure on themselves.[2]
And when we do that, we actually interrupt the brain’s natural dopamine hit — the little rush that reinforces pride and confidence.
Over time, our brains start to learn that accomplishment doesn’t equal celebration. So even big wins start to feel emotionally flat.
And honestly, I’ve done it too.
I didn’t even go to my own college graduation.
And I was the first in my family to graduate from university!
At the time, I told myself I wasn’t a sentimental person — that it just wasn’t a big milestone.
But looking back, it was a big deal. Especially for my family.
I just couldn’t let myself feel it. It felt easier — safer — to move on to the next goal.
Man… not the right way to approach this one short life we live
Environmental and Structural Barriers — “It doesn’t feel safe to celebrate.”
For many women, the barrier isn’t just internal — it’s cultural and systemic.
When women speak up about their success, they fear being seen as “self-promoting” or “too confident.”
Harvard’s Division of Continuing Education summarized this as the “self-promotion gap.”[3]
Women consistently rate and describe their performance more modestly than men. In academic publishing, women were 28% less likely to self-promote their work on social media.[4]
This “modesty norm” is reinforced by social feedback loops.
When we do take that chance and share a win – and our colleagues stay silent instead of showing support, it reinforces our instinct to keep our heads down.
So women learn to celebrate quietly — or not at all.
And I’ll be honest. I still feel it.
Even promoting this podcast. Despite the positive feedback, I’m terrified to post it on LinkedIn each week.
When I shared that we’d reached a record number of downloads, I was so nervous to hit “publish.”
Being visible — showing what I’m building and creating — takes work. It’s new. It’s uncomfortable.
But noticing these patterns helps.
Awareness is the first step toward courage.
The “Always Next” Mindset — “I’ll celebrate when…”
High-achieving women, especially in medicine and leadership, often live in perpetual pursuit. There’s always another milestone on the map.
Organizational psychology calls this the “moving finish line effect.”
Success gives a quick dopamine hit, then vanishes — replaced by pressure to achieve the next thing.
In high-stakes fields like medicine, the culture rewards endurance and productivity more than reflection and joy.
I was talking recently with another physician who described it perfectly — she called it the “always-seeking phenomenon.”
You know how it goes:
- We graduate — what’s next?
- We get the job — what’s next?
- We get promoted — what’s the next role?
- The next degree? The next title?
Because whatever we just accomplished… somehow doesn’t feel like that big of a deal.
The cost? Chronic dissatisfaction and burnout — even among the most accomplished.
Reflection
When I started looking at this research, it made me realize — we’ve been trained out of celebration.
Somewhere between striving and surviving, we stopped giving ourselves permission to feel proud.
Maybe it’s not that we don’t feel proud — maybe it’s that pride has been painted as the opposite of grace.
So we dim it. We soften it. We keep it private. But when we do, we also dim our impact.
Stayed tuned because next week, we will talk about how and why to reclaim your courage to stand in our own success.
Thank you for listening to today’s episode of the Women MD Leader’s show. Take a quick moment to rate this show wherever you listen! Your kindness will come back to you!
That’s all for now. Take can and protect your peace.
[1] Clance, PR, Imes, S. Psychotherapy Theory, Research and Practice. Volume 15, #3, Fall 1978.
[2] Hamilton OS, Lordan G. Ability or luck: A systematic review of interpersonal attributions of success. Front Psychol. 2023 Jan 5;13:1035012. doi: 10.3389/fpsyg.2022.1035012. PMID: 36687946; PMCID: PMC9849577.
[3] https://professional.dce.harvard.edu/blog/women-dont-self-promote-but-maybe-they-should/
[4] Christine L. Exley and Judd B. Kessler, “The Gender Gap in Self-Promotion,” NBER Working Paper 26345 (2019), https://doi.org/10.3386/w26345.