I wasn’t one of those people who knew from the age of five that nursing was my calling. I didn’t grow up saying “I was born to do this.” The truth is, when I first joined the NHS, I was working as a ward catering assistant. I was drifting from job to job, with no clear plan, just hoping something would click, hoping something would give.

But something did happen. I found myself drawn to diabetes care — really drawn to it. I wanted to understand it. I asked questions, I paid attention, I cared. Within a few months, I was offered a sponsorship to train as a nurse. Me. The catering assistant who hadn’t planned on any of this.

That journey changed everything — but it also left me with something that took me much longer to name: imposter syndrome.

It Goes Deeper Than “Nerves”

We all have off days. We all have shifts where we go home wondering if we’re actually any good at this. But imposter syndrome is much, much deeper. It hits you at a foundational level. It whispers that you only got here by luck. That one day someone will realise you don’t know what you’re doing. That you’re still that person drifting from job to job — and the title and the uniform don’t actually change who you are underneath.

Even now, it’s something I have to actively remind myself of. I still remember that younger version of myself — unsure, searching, hoping — and it can feel impossible to reconcile that with the person I am today: a specialist, a trusted colleague, someone patients rely on. Accepting that I am excellent at what I do is still, sometimes, the hardest part of the job.

Everyone Is Fighting a Battle You Can’t See

Here’s what I’ve learned, and what I want you to know: every nurse you meet has their own story, unique to them. That nurse who seems so confident? She might be terrified inside. That assessor who comes across as grumpy? She may have just lost someone she loves. She may be carrying so much at home that every single shift is a struggle just to keep her head above water.

People don’t come to work fully assembled. We bring our grief, our worries, our tiredness, our doubts. We are all human. And that means you don’t have to be perfect to belong here. You just have to show up, keep learning, and care.

What I Say to Myself on the Hard Days

When that voice gets loud — the one that says I’m still just the catering assistant who got lucky — I remind myself: potential doesn’t care where you start. I didn’t just “end up” here. I asked the questions. I showed up early. I stayed late. I cared when no one was watching. That’s not luck. That’s you, showing who you are.

And if you’re reading this and you feel like you’re pretending? Let me tell you: the very fact that you worry about whether you belong is proof that you do. Those who don’t care don’t ask the question. Those who don’t belong don’t strive to be better.

You belong here. Your story matters. And the best is yet to come.

▶ Page Information & Citing