You're sitting in a meeting. Everyone else seems to get things faster than you. They speak up confidently. They look like they know exactly what they're doing.

And you? You're thinking: I'm dumb. I don't belong here. They're probably trying to get rid of me.

It feels true. It feels like a fact.

But here's a question that might change everything: Is it?

The Evidence Mistake That Keeps You Feeling Dumb

Let me ask you something. If I said, "I feel like it's raining outside," would that make it actually rain?

Of course not. To know if it's raining, you'd have to look outside and check the evidence.

Yet when it comes to thoughts like "I'm dumb," most of us skip that step entirely. The feeling is so intense, so immediate, that we treat it as established fact. No evidence required.

But here's what's actually happening beneath the surface—a process you probably can't see because you're inside it.

Your mind is running a trial. And it's rigged.

Think about it: You've been at your job for four and a half years. Your manager has explicitly told you she likes you. She's literally said you're not dumb.

And what did you do with that information?

You dismissed it. She's just being nice.

Meanwhile, the thought "I'm dumb"—which came from where, exactly? What evidence produced it?—that one you accepted without question.

Positive feedback from someone who actually works with you: rejected.
Negative conclusion with no supporting evidence: accepted immediately.

Does that sound like a fair trial?

Why You Debug Code But Not Your Thoughts

Here's what's interesting. If you work with code—or really, any kind of problem-solving—you already know better than to do this.

When your program doesn't work, do you just assume your hypothesis is correct? Do you say, "I feel like the bug is in line 47, so it must be"?

No. You run tests. You check error messages. You trace through the logic. You verify before you act.

You would never trust an assumption without testing it against evidence.

So why do you trust "I'm dumb" without running a single test?

The skill you use every day in your work—examining evidence before drawing conclusions—somehow gets switched off when you turn that lens on yourself. The rigor you apply to code, you withhold from your own self-assessment.

What if you ran the same quality check on your thoughts that you run on your programs?

The Hidden Problem with How You Process Praise

Research in cognitive therapy has a name for what's happening here. It's called imposter phenomenon—and it describes something specific and measurable.

People experiencing this pattern share a strange characteristic: they have objective evidence of success, but they can't internalize it. They dismiss positive feedback. They minimize accomplishments. They attribute success to luck or other people's low standards.

Meanwhile, any criticism—real or imagined—gets absorbed immediately and completely.

Studies show this isn't about actual competence. It's a feedback loop with a bug in it.

Think of it like a filter on incoming data. Positive evidence gets screened out: That doesn't count. She was just being nice. I got lucky. Negative evidence passes right through: See? I knew it. I'm not good enough.

The result? You end up with a completely distorted picture of reality—one where only the negative data survives.

Here's the part that might surprise you: Companies don't keep employees for four and a half years out of politeness. Your manager's positive feedback isn't social nicety—it's data. Your continued employment is evidence of competence that you've been filtering out.

Why Comparing Yourself to Coworkers Backfires

There's another piece to this. You mentioned looking around at colleagues who seem to be "moving forward so well."

But what exactly are you comparing?

You're comparing your internal experience—complete with all your doubts, fears, and mental struggles—to their external presentation. Their polished, public-facing performance.

That's like comparing your rough draft to their published version.

You see their confidence in meetings. You don't see them at 2 AM wondering if they're in over their heads. You see their smooth answers. You don't see the panic before the presentation.

You have access to your own full internal experience. You only have access to their curated external behavior.

No wonder you come up short in that comparison. It's not a fair test.

The Real Reason You Can't Say No

Here's something else worth noticing. You mentioned work stress from taking on too much—signing up for things without saying no.

Why do you think that happens?

If you say no, what might people think?

That you can't handle it. That you're not capable. That you're... dumb.

The same faulty belief driving your self-criticism is driving your overcommitment. You're trying to prove you're not incompetent by never refusing anything—which exhausts you, which makes you feel less capable, which confirms the original belief.

It's a cycle. And it's powered by the same bug in the feedback loop.

Breaking the thought pattern doesn't just affect how you feel about yourself. It could change how you set boundaries at work, because you wouldn't need to constantly prove something that the evidence already supports.

How to Test Your Thoughts Like Evidence

So what do you do with this?

The same thing you'd do with a code hypothesis: test it.

When the thought "I'm dumb" shows up—or "they're trying to get rid of me"—don't accept it as fact. Pause. Ask one simple question:

What is the actual evidence for this?

Not the feeling. The evidence.

Research shows this single question—practiced consistently—produces measurable changes in how people process negative self-beliefs. It's not about positive thinking or affirmations. It's about applying the same standard of proof to your thoughts that you'd apply to any other claim.

When you ask "what is the evidence?" about "I'm dumb," you might find:

• Your manager explicitly said otherwise
• You've held your job for four and a half years
• You solve problems effectively when you focus
• There's no actual data supporting the conclusion

The evidence points in the opposite direction from the feeling.

That doesn't mean the feeling disappears. But it means you stop treating it as fact. You recognize it for what it is: a distortion, not a data point.

How to Debug Your Self-Criticism

Here's your practice for the coming week:

When a negative self-judgment arises, treat it like a bug report.

1. Notice the thought. ("I'm dumb." "They're trying to get rid of me.")
2. Ask: What is the actual evidence for this claim?
3. Write down what you find. Not interpretations—evidence. What has actually happened? What has actually been said?
4. Notice if you're dismissing positive evidence and accepting negative assumptions. That's the bug.
5. Compare your internal experience to your own actual track record—not to imagined versions of how others are doing.

You already know how to do this. You do it with code every day. You're just applying the same discipline to a different domain.

What Happens When the Feedback Loop Works

Here's what becomes possible when the feedback loop starts working correctly:

Your manager's positive feedback registers as truth rather than being dismissed.

Four and a half years of employment gets recognized as evidence of competence.

The thought "I'm dumb" still might arise—but you'll immediately ask "What is the evidence?" And you'll find there isn't any.

You'll stop comparing your rough drafts to others' final edits.

And maybe—though this is for another conversation—you'll be able to say no to things without feeling like you're proving you can't handle them.

Because here's the real shift: The problem was never that you're dumb.

The problem was a bug in how you were processing the evidence.

And now you know how to debug it.

What's Next

How does the pattern of not being able to say no connect to self-worth beliefs, and what would it look like to set boundaries without feeling like you're proving you can't handle things?