You don't have imposter syndrome.

Your Therapist Lied to You

I’m about to ruin your favorite excuse.

Fair warning.

You’ve probably been told you have imposter syndrome.

Hell, you probably told yourself that.

Maybe you attended a $200/hour therapy sesh while someone with a fern collection nodded and said “mmhmm” a lot.

Maybe you bought a Tony Robbin’s book. Highlighted passages. Screamed power affirmations in the mirror.

Or maybe you posted on Instagram so everyone knows you’re “doing the work.”

Cute story, but wrong.

You don’t have imposter syndrome.

You have erectile comparison dysfunction.

These are not the same thing.

Imposter syndrome is a psychological condition where you doubt your accomplishments despite evidence of your competence.

Comparison dysfunction is when you measure your Chapter 3 against someone else’s Chapter 47 and call yourself a failure.

One is a clinical issue.

The other is a math problem you created while doom-scrolling at 2am in your underwear.

Lemme break it down for ya…

The Scroll That Broke Your Confidence

You’re on Substack.

Some 26-year-old just announced she hit $40k/month writing newsletters.

She’s got 847 fire emojis in her replies.

Her teeth are impossibly white. You hate her immediately.

And your brain?

It does what brains do best:

It compares.

“I’ve been at this for 8 months. I made $5.37 last month. What the hell is wrong with me?”

Nothing.

Nothing is wrong with you.

You just forgot to check how long she’s been playing the game while you were busy spiraling into an existential crisis over a stranger’s screenshot.

Turns out she started in 2019. She’s been at this for 5 years.

You’ve been at it for 8 months.

You compared your pregame warmup to her fourth quarter.

Then called yourself an “imposter.”

Then probably ate something beige out of the pantry and stared at the wall.

This isn’t a feelings problem. It’s a framing problem.

The 15-Minute Formula That Fixed Mine

I stumbled onto a formula that fixed this for me in about 15 minutes.

It’s stupidly simple (embarrassingly so).

The kind of obvious thing that makes you want to throw your laptop because why didn’t anyone tell you this sooner.

Here it is:

(Your Current Chapter ÷ Your Total Chapters) vs. (Their Current Chapter ÷ Their Total Chapters) = Fair Comparison

Stay with me.

I promise this isn’t that hustle-bro math where we pretend 4-hour workweeks exist.

Let’s say you’re 8 months into building an online business.

You figure it’ll take you about 5 years to get where you want to go.

That means you’re in Chapter 8 of a 60-chapter book.

Now the woman on Substack? She’s 5 years in. Same 5-year goal when she started.

She’s in Chapter 60 of 60.

When you compare 8/60 to 60/60, you’re not an imposter.

You’re exactly where you should be.

The feeling of being behind disappears the moment you stop pretending you’re reading the same page as someone who finished the damn book while you were still picking a font for your logo.

Why This Kills Your Goals More Than Failure

Now here’s the dark part.

Comparison dysfunction doesn’t just make you feel bad.

It makes you quit.

It makes you believe the gap between where you are and where they are is proof that you’re fundamentally broken.

That some people got the success gene and you got the “peaked in high school” gene.

That the universe sorted winners and losers before you were born and you should probably just get really into houseplants instead.

That’s bullshit.

The gap isn’t proof you’re failing.

The gap is proof you started later.

Different start dates produce different results at identical effort levels.

This ain’t motivational self-help fluff.

This is cause and effect.

This is the same math that explains why your friend who bought Bitcoin in 2012 is insufferable at dinner parties.

Timing isn’t everything.

But it matters.

Like, a lot.

Do This Before You Close This Email (I’m Serious)

Now…

You can nod along…

Feel temporarily inspired…

Then forget everything in 30 minutes when you see another screenshot of someone’s “$50k month” and start the whole shame cycle again.

Or you can do what I did:

Step 1) Write down 3 people you’ve been comparing yourself to.

The ones who make you feel like a fraud.

The ones whose posts make you want to delete your accounts and become a power-tripping mall cop.

Step 2) Find out when they started.

Stalk them on Google or look at when their social media was made.

Step 3) Run the formula.

Once you’ve done that, watch the “imposter syndrome” vanish like a cheap magic trick performed by a guy named Doug at your nephew’s birthday party.

Because that’s all it ever was.

Not Doug… but a bad calculation disguised as a diagnosis.

A story you told yourself because the truth—that you’re just earlier in the process—wasn’t dramatic enough.

The Only Thing You’re Actually Behind On

You’re not behind.

You’re just earlier in the book.

And honestly? Being early is fine.

It means you still get to write the interesting chapters.

The people at Chapter 60 are just editing at this point.

Keep writing.

Your Canadian friend,

Dakota “Imposter Killer” Robertson