We all carry stories about who we are at work: “I’m the problem-solver.” “I’m the glue holding this team together.” “I’m the one who always delivers.” These narratives fuel our confidence—until they harden into delusions. Until we start overestimating our contributions, borrowing others’ successes as our own, and editing out the failures that don’t fit the plot.

It’s human to want to see ourselves as competent, essential, enough. But when that desire distorts reality—when we inflate our skills, claim credit for collaborative wins, or ignore the dead ends we’ve created—we trade growth for a fragile fiction.

These aren’t just harmless ego boosts. They’re survival tactics—ways to quiet the fear that we’re not as capable as others think, or that our worth hinges on perfection. But delusion demands constant upkeep. It isolates us, turning colleagues into competitors and feedback into threats. Over time, the gap between the story we tell and the reality we inhabit widens, until one day, the dissonance screams.

What if we dared to lay down the armor of overconfidence? What if we replaced “I’m the hero here” with “What’s true here?” This isn’t about self-deprecation. It’s about curiosity. It’s asking:

• Did I really drive this success, or did I stand on someone else’s shoulders?
• Where have I ignored feedback that could help me grow?
• What failures have I buried, and what might they teach me?

This kind of honesty isn’t comfortable. It means grieving the idealized version of yourself. But in that space, something unexpected emerges: freedom. Freedom to collaborate without scorekeeping. Freedom to grow without pretending. Freedom to say, “I don’t know—let’s figure this out together.”