Imposter Syndrome in Dance: Inside the Cycle of Constant Self-Doubt

Written By Nova Dance Coaching .

Have you ever received an award and felt you couldn’t possibly deserve it?

Been praised or promoted and quietly wondered if they’d chosen the wrong person?

Maybe you succeeded in an audition and immediately worried it was a mistake.

Most people will experience at least one episode of imposter syndrome in their lifetime, and many move through it with increased confidence (Singh & Arora, 2023). But some people become caught in a persistent cycle of self-doubt, creating the perfect doorway for imposter syndrome to enter.

This pattern is especially common among high-achieving individuals, including those in performance-based environments like dance and sport. When success is closely tied to identity, evaluation, and comparison, imposter syndrome doesn’t just appear — it can quietly embed itself and thrive.

In this blog, we’ll explore where imposter syndrome may originate within dance training, and why certain aspects of dance culture unintentionally reinforce it. We’ll also look at how teachers can help prevent it and how students might recognise and navigate it.

What is Imposter Syndrome?

Carrelle, NDCoaching STEP Up 2025

Imposter syndrome is a learned response to high-achievement environments — it is not something we are born with (Bress, 2025; Chandra et al., 2019; Huecker et al., 2023; Singh & Arora, 2023). In dance, it is often learned in the studio and then reinforced over time. When dancers remain in the same training environments, with the same expectations and an unevolving culture, these patterns can be reinforced, pulling dancers further into the imposter cycle (Bress, 2025; Chandra et al., 2019).

Importantly, imposter syndrome is not a personality flaw or a lack of ability (Chandra et al., 2019). It can even disguise itself as motivation, drive, or dedication — traits that are often praised and rewarded in dance culture.

At its core, imposter syndrome is characterised by persistent self-doubt about one’s skills, intelligence, or accomplishments, alongside an inability to internalise success (Chandra et al., 2019; Huecker et al., 2023; Singh & Arora, 2023). Individuals may experience heightened anxiety, low mood, and a pervasive fear of being exposed as a fraud — despite clear evidence of competence and achievement.

The Imposter Cycle and its Core Features

Imposter syndrome was first described by Suzanne Imes and Pauline Clance in 1978 (Huecker et al., 2023; Singh & Arora, 2023). Their work identified six features that help explain why these feelings persist over time and evolve into imposter syndrome.

The imposter cycle occurs when an individual faces an achievement-focused task and responds with either over-preparation or procrastination (Huecker et al., 2023). After completing the task, success is dismissed or minimised rather than internalised. This leads to increased anxiety before the next challenge, reinforcing the cycle.

Perfectionism is another key feature, often driven by self-imposed standards that are unrealistic or unattainable (Chandra et al., 2019; Gresham-Dolby, 2022; Huecker et al., 2023; Singh & Arora, 2023). Mistakes — no matter how small — are interpreted as proof of incompetence, and self-feedback tends to be harsh and non-constructive.

Super-heroism refers to a tendency to overwork in order to appear more capable (Gresham-Dolby, 2022; Huecker et al., 2023). This often overlaps with perfectionism, with individuals pushing themselves beyond healthy limits. Because this extra effort is frequently praised, the behaviour is reinforced, further establishing the imposter cycle.

Atychiphobia, or fear of failure, stems from concerns about humiliation, shame, or being judged for making mistakes or underperforming compared to peers (Huecker et al., 2023).

Denial of competence involves dismissing one’s skills, intelligence, or experience, while attributing success to luck, timing, or external factors — even when evidence clearly suggests otherwise (Chandra et al., 2019; Huecker et al., 2023).

Finally, fear of success can emerge, as achievement may lead to higher expectations, increased workload, or pressure to maintain performance, leading to further over-preparation and anxiety (Huecker et al., 2023; Pourhosein & Alizadeh, 2018).

Together, these features create a persistent sense of unworthiness. Individuals may feel as though they are “faking it,” or could never measure up, constantly fearing that someone will discover they do not truly belong — even when their competence is well established.

Imposter Syndrome in High-Achieving Environments

Imposter syndrome is associated with a range of experiences, including low self-esteem, chronic self-doubt, anxiety and depression, burnout, excessive comparison, and maladaptive coping patterns (Chandra et al., 2019; Huecker et al., 2023; Singh & Arora, 2023).

While imposter syndrome is not an official clinical diagnosis, it has been widely documented in high-achieving environments, particularly in higher education and, more recently, elite sport (Huecker et al., 2023; Singh & Arora, 2023). Although research specific to dance remains limited, the parallels are difficult to ignore. Given the shared emphasis on evaluation, performance, comparison, and identity, existing research provides a meaningful framework for understanding imposter syndrome within dance training contexts.

Carrelle, NDCoaching STEP Up 2025

How Dance Culture Feeds Imposter Syndrome

When we examine imposter syndrome in high-achieving environments and look closely at its defining features, the parallels within dance culture become difficult to ignore.

Dance training relies heavily on external evaluation and validation. Progress is often measured through casting, corrections, roles, and comparisons rather than internal growth or self-acknowledged improvement. Over time, dancers may learn to trust external approval more than their own strengths — a pattern that directly reinforces the core mechanisms of imposter syndrome.

Perfectionism, another central feature of imposter syndrome, is frequently reframed in dance as professionalism. Dancers are praised for pushing through pain, rehearsing excessively, or holding themselves to impossibly high standards. While these behaviours can look like dedication, they often mirror the perfectionism and over-preparation that sustain the imposter cycle. 

Comparison is also deeply planted in many training environments. Whether through line placements, casting decisions, body-based feedback, or direct teacher comparisons, dancers are often encouraged — explicitly or implicitly — to measure themselves against their peers. For dancers already prone to self-doubt, this constant comparison amplifies uncertainty and reinforces the belief that they are falling behind, not good enough, or incapable.

In some studios, success is defined narrowly and rigidly. There may be a single pathway, aesthetic, or outcome that is valued, with little recognition of individual differences, goals, or strengths. When success is framed this way, dancers who do not immediately fit that mold may internalise failure — even when they have so much potential and skill. For those with perfectionistic tendencies, this can intensify self-criticism and reinforce the belief that anything short of this ideal is unacceptable.

Taken together, these cultural features create an environment that quietly supports the development of imposter syndrome. External validation replaces internal trust, perfectionism is rewarded, comparison is normalised, and success feels conditional. Over time, these conditions make it easier for the imposter cycle to take hold — and harder for dancers to recognise their competence, progress, and worth.

A Personal Moment: Recognising a Pattern

The moment I realised my imposter syndrome had shifted from background noise to something far louder was when I walked into my first ballet class at WAAPA.

On paper, I belonged there. I had been accepted — for the second time — into one of Australia’s most competitive ballet programs, with only eighteen places offered that year. But psychologically, my nervous system didn’t register safety. It registered a threat.

I was coming off a significant injury that had kept me in a boot for twelve weeks, followed by months of limited rehabilitation and little access to studio training due to COVID lockdowns. I had moved away from home, away from the structure I relied on, and I was older than many of the other students in the room. My body felt unfamiliar to me and the little confidence I did have abandoned me.

As class began, my anxiety surged in a way I hadn’t experienced before. My blood felt cold. My thoughts raced. Instead of thinking I earned this, my mind searched desperately for evidence that I didn’t belong.

This is a classic imposter syndrome response — when internal doubt overrides external validation, and achievement is reframed not as evidence of competence, but as a mistake waiting to be exposed.

I became hyper-aware of everything: my technique, my stamina, my age, my injury history. I was convinced it was only a matter of time before a teacher would turn around and say, “You’re not supposed to be here. How did you get in?” That fear wasn’t rooted in reality, but in a nervous system primed for self-protection — constantly scanning for threat, comparison, and rejection.

What’s important to name here is that imposter syndrome doesn’t appear because we lack ability. It often emerges because we care deeply, hold ourselves to impossible standards, and have learned — often unconsciously — that our worth is conditional on performance. In moments of transition, injury, or vulnerability, that belief system can take over completely.

Despite years of intensive training, success at eisteddfods, countless masterclasses, and even an invitation to train at the Princess Grace Academy of Dance in Monaco for a summer, none of that evidence felt accessible to me at that moment. My mind discounted every achievement and magnified every perceived flaw.

Looking back now, I can see that what I experienced wasn’t a lack of readiness or capability. It was a nervous system overwhelmed by pressure, perfectionism, and a deeply ingrained fear of being seen as not enough.

The Paradox: Evidence vs. Belief

One of the most disruptive aspects of imposter syndrome is not a lack of achievement, but the inability to internalise it (Chandra et al., 2019; Huecker et al., 2023). There can be clear, repeated evidence that a dancer is capable, skilled, and deserving — yet that evidence fails to be internalised and therefore fails to create a sense of safety or confidence.

This is the paradox: evidence does not override belief.

Even when achievements are concrete and externally validated, imposter syndrome filters them through doubt. Success is discounted, reframed as luck, timing, or error, while perceived shortcomings are magnified and treated as proof (Chandra et al., 2019). 

Research suggests that imposter syndrome can function as a maladaptive protective response to stress, fear, and anxiety (Chandra et al., 2019; Pourhosein & Alizadeh, 2018). It is not logical or reflective — it is defensive. When the nervous system is oriented toward threat, it prioritises scanning for risk over reassurance (Pourhosein & Alizadeh, 2018). Evidence becomes irrelevant because the body doesn’t feel safe enough to receive it (Chandra et al., 2019; Huecker et al., 2023).

This helps explain why, even with strong credentials or repeated success, dancers may remain convinced they are on the verge of being exposed. The mind searches not for confirmation of competence, but for disqualifiers — injury history, age, time off, comparison with others — anything to convince them that they’re “not enough.”

In highly evaluative environments like dance, where identity and worth are often shaped through constant feedback and comparison, this pattern becomes especially rooted. Belonging can feel conditional, fragile, and easily taken away. When that belief takes hold, no amount of external success can override the internal narrative of “I don’t truly deserve this.”

Carrelle, NDCoaching STEP Up 2025

Imposter Syndrome is a Shape-Shifter

For a long time, I assumed that once I stopped training full-time, imposter syndrome would fade. Instead, it simply adapted — reshaping itself to fit whatever role I stepped into next.

At university, it showed up as a deep sense of being an outsider. I hadn’t followed a traditional high-school pathway, and when I was accepted into my bachelor’s degree, comments about how “impressive” it was to get in only intensified the feeling that I had somehow snuck in unnoticed. Rather than feeling proud, I felt like a fraud waiting to be called out.

When I got an acting and singing job as a Princess party performer, the same pattern repeated. Despite being selected for the role, I questioned whether my training was enough — whether I truly deserved to be there.

As a dance teacher, imposter syndrome tends to be quieter but no less persistent. It can sound like a subtle voice that questions my knowledge, minimises my experience, or suggests that someone more qualified will eventually expose me. In those moments, it’s easy to forget that I danced for seventeen years, that more than half of that time was spent in intensive training, and that my understanding of dance is not just theoretical — it is lived and earned. Yet, my mind still searches for flaws that prove I'm in the wrong position.

When identity has long been shaped through doing rather than guiding, stepping into a teaching role can feel uneasy and unfamiliar. Imposter syndrome often thrives in this transition, particularly for those who are reflective, conscientious, and deeply invested in doing right by others — traits that frequently overlap with perfectionism.

What I’m learning is that expertise isn’t defined solely by titles, roles, or clean-cut career paths. It also lives in insight, empathy, and the ability to create safe, supportive learning environments. Often, the people who worry most about “not being enough” are the ones who worry because they care — about their students’ growth, wellbeing, and experience as both dancers and people.

The Cost to Dancers

Imposter syndrome can be deeply detrimental to dancers — whether they are students, professionals, teachers, or individuals navigating life beyond dance (Bress, 2025). Left unaddressed, it can quietly limit growth, erode confidence, and in some cases, contribute to dancers stepping away from the art form altogether.

Living in a constant state of fear — fear of being exposed, of not being “enough,” of making a mistake that confirms self-doubt — is not sustainable (Bress, 2025; Singh & Arora, 2023). Over time, this internal pressure often leads to burnout, chronic anxiety and stress, rigid perfectionism, and emotional exhaustion.

For me, this internal battle became part of the reason I stepped away from full-time training at WAAPA and eventually stopped dancing altogether. What looked from the outside like a choice or a shift in direction was, internally, an attempt to find relief from a nervous system that no longer felt safe in dance spaces. I avoided anything dance-related for nearly two years — not because I didn’t love dance, but because the weight of constantly feeling inadequate had become overwhelming.

This experience reflects a broader pattern seen in dancers with imposter syndrome: withdrawal becomes a coping strategy, a last resort. Stepping back, avoiding auditions, disengaging from training, or leaving dance entirely can feel like the only way to escape the fear of exposure. 

When dance does stop, imposter syndrome often doesn’t. Many dancers experience a profound sense of identity loss, particularly when their sense of worth has been closely tied to performance (Bress, 2025). They may feel underqualified to pursue pathways outside of dance, unsure of what skills transfer, or fearful that they will once again be “found out” in a new environment.

In this way, imposter syndrome doesn’t end with dance — it simply changes shape. Without support, it can follow dancers into education, careers, and relationships long after they’ve left the studio.

What Actually Helps (And What We’re Still Learning)

Before offering strategies, it’s important to acknowledge two things.
First, I don’t have all the answers. Imposter syndrome is something I still navigate myself, and it doesn’t disappear simply because you become more experienced or more self-aware. Second, while imposter syndrome has been recognised for decades, research into its mechanisms, long-term impact, and effective interventions — particularly outside of university settings — is still developing. Much of what we know comes from higher education and elite performance contexts, with far less research specific to dance.

That said, there are clear patterns emerging from both research and lived experience about what does help (Bress, 2025; Chandra et al., 2019; Huecker et al., 2023).

For Teachers: Creating Protective Environments

One of the most powerful protective factors against imposter syndrome is a learning environment where expectations are clear and feedback is process-focused rather than outcome-focused (Chandra et al., 2019; Huecker et al., 2023).

This means:

  • Clearly verbalising expectations rather than assuming students “just know,”

  • Framing feedback around effort, strategy, consistency, and growth — not just results or rankings,

  • Separating a dancer’s worth from outcomes such as roles, awards, or praise.

Normalising uncertainty, mistakes, and failure is essential. When errors are treated as part of learning rather than evidence of inadequacy, students are less likely to internalise self-doubt. Studios that allow dancers to ask questions, make mistakes, and experiment without fear create psychological safety — a key buffer against imposter syndrome.

For Dancers: Naming the Pattern

For dancers, one of the first steps is noticing the pattern and giving it a name (Bress, 2025). Imposter syndrome thrives in silence, self-blame and self-doubt.

You are not the imposter — those thoughts are.

Learning to identify and gently challenge self-deprecating thoughts can help loosen their grip. Instead of “I don’t deserve this role, award, or opportunity,” try reframing to:
“I’ve worked hard to get here, and I’m continuing to grow with every class and performance.”

This isn’t about forced positivity or denying fear — it’s about recognising that thoughts are not facts and they don’t have to have control over you.

The Role of Support

A strong, caring support system matters — both inside and outside the studio (Bress, 2025). Trusted teachers, peers, friends, and family can help ground dancers when self-doubt takes over.

Professional psychological support can also be incredibly valuable. Working with a psychologist or counsellor provides tools to reframe thinking patterns, regulate the nervous system, and build resilience against imposter thoughts. Importantly, seeking support is not a sign of weakness — it shows you have the strength to pursue a better you

There is no single solution to imposter syndrome. Progress often comes in small, uneven steps. But with supportive environments, open conversations, and compassionate self-awareness, its impact can be reduced — even if it never disappears entirely, we can learn to manage it.

Carrelle, NDCoaching 2024

Can Imposter Syndrome Be Unlearned?

So, if imposter syndrome is often developed within learning environments, can it also be unlearned within them?
Absolutely.

Imposter syndrome is far more common than many people realise. It is not a personal failure, a lack of resilience, or something to be ashamed of. It is not fixed or irreversible.

When imposter syndrome is approached with curiosity, reflection, and compassion — rather than pressure or dismissal — it becomes possible to loosen its hold. Supportive teaching practices, clear communication, and psychologically safe environments can help dancers rebuild trust in themselves and their abilities. Over time, this supports not only technical growth, but a healthier relationship with achievement and self-worth.

Confidence is not built by constantly proving your value.
It is built by feeling safe enough to stop having to prove yourself.

When dancers feel secure, supported, and seen beyond their outcomes, confidence grows naturally — not as armour, but as trust in one’s own capacity to learn, adapt, and belong.

Nova Dance Coaching .
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