Frederik shares a moment with his 10-year-old daughter that reveals why we doubt ourselves despite evidence we're doing fine. About 70% of adults experience imposter syndrome, often because we never ask the people closest to us what they actually think. He proposes asking someone who knows your unpolished self: "What's something you think I'm doing better than I think I am?" and listening without defending.
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Something happened in my kitchen a few nights ago, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. And I wanna share it with you here, because I think it might land for you too. Even if you don't have kids, even if you've never thought about it this way. My wife Angela is in Europe right now, visiting her mother and grandmother. Which means it's just— me and our 3 kids, 10 days solo off the grid here in the Santa Cruz Mountains. And we're having a lot of fun. And one evening, Tuesday night, I said something to all 3 of them in a tone that was more direct than I usually use. Was nothing harsh, but not soft either. I said, please, if you see something out of place, just help. The socks on the floor, the dishes on the counter. I should not be the only one noticing. And they went quiet. Then they just dispersed. And I stood there in the kitchen. Light was still on and socks still on the floor. And I had this thought that I almost never say out loud. I always want to be a great dad. But honestly, I don't know if I am. Not all the time, not in these moments, the unplanned ones, the ones I didn't prepare for. Those Tuesday nights, the tired voice, the accumulated tone of a life lived together. And then a few minutes later, my 10-year-old daughter came back into the kitchen and she looked at me and she said, Papa, you're an awesome dad. And I smiled, and then I asked her, can you actually give me a grade? And she really thought about it with complete seriousness. And then she said, sure, at the end of the month. And that answer hit me harder than reassurance would have, because she wasn't just being kind. She was actually going to pay attention. She was going to watch. And then tell me the truth. And I realized I don't ask for that very often, not from the people who actually know me. So Father's Day just passed and Mother's Day before it, both beautiful, both built around the same impulse. We look outward, we celebrate the people who raised us. We say, I see you, I appreciate you, thank you. But almost nobody flips it. Almost nobody lets the people closest to them say it back. So we perform love. We rarely receive it as information. And I think that is why so many people, like leaders, like parents, friends, or partners, walk through life carrying a distorted picture of themselves. Like the leader who thinks they are failing their team while the team considers them the reason they stay. Or the friend who worries they are too much while someone else experiences them as irreplaceable. Or the parent replaying one frustrated moment while their child mainly remembers feeling safe. You know what's interesting? Nearly 70% of adults experience imposter syndrome. Including in their relationship, actually in their closest relationships. And half of all parents report persistent feelings of inequality despite clear signs of love and connection from their kids. So not occasionally, persistently, which means this is not a confidence problem, this is a receiving problem. And many of us trust our fears more than the people who love us. We hand our insecurities the authority to narrate who we are. And the people closest to us, they're often holding something far more complete, far more accurate, far more generous. So my daughter does not read this newsletter. She has seen me on stage. She has helped me sell books. She knows exactly what I do. And none of that, none of it, is the way that actually counts. She knows me in the only way that matters. Daily, unfiltered, in the kitchen on a Tuesday night. And when I asked her for a grade, she didn't rush to make me feel better. She slowed down, she considered it, she treated my question with more care than I had been treating myself. And that felt important. Because the future is not only shaped by the goals we chase, it's also shaped by the stories we believe about ourselves while chasing them. And sometimes the people who already know us are holding a far more accurate picture than the one we carry. So here's what I want to leave you with. Think of one person in your life who knows the daily version of you. Not your professional best, not the polished version. The person who has seen you distracted and joyful, impatient and generous, exhausted and fully present. Ask them one question, just one. What's something you think I'm doing better than I think I am? And then don't interrupt, don't explain it away, don't argue with it, or don't turn it into a joke. Just let it arrive. Let someone who already knows you reflect something back that fear never could. I wrote about all of this in this week's Next Letter. It goes deeper. The research, the two perspectives, the full experiment. Link is in the description. Go read it. And if you're not subscribed yet, the Next Letter comes out every other Friday. One question, two perspectives, one experiment. That's it. And if you try the experiment, if you actually ask someone that question and let that answer land, tell me what happened. Reply to this next letter. I read every single one. I'm still waiting for my daughter's assessment, by the way. End of the month. I'm a little nervous, but maybe that nervousness is part of the experiment too. Future from within. I'm Frederik G. Pferdt.
