I’m no stranger to success. I’ve built systems, led teams, raised animals, and grown a business with nothing but grit and vision. But none of that prepared me for what it feels like to question your own hands. To stand in front of jars of oil and dried herbs — things I grew, gathered, and processed myself — and wonder:
Is this real? Or am I playing pretend in a world that expects lab coats and letters after your name?

That’s what impostor syndrome does. It doesn’t show up when you’re lost — it shows up when you start winning in a way the world doesn’t understand.

A man came up to me at a recent market swap. He had tried one of my dandelion-infused oils for joint pain. Said it worked better than the epidural procedure he had gone through. I wanted to be proud. Instead, I froze inside. Better than an epidural? That’s a medical procedure. I’m just… me. A woman with plants and purpose.
And yet — it worked.

And now there’s Luna. My dog. My girl. After six months of unexplained weight gain, I made a powdered herbal blend to support her liver, thyroid, and metabolism. She’s lost nearly a pound in a week. Her energy’s steady, her gut is strong, and I didn’t change a thing except that tonic. It’s not a fluke. It’s not wishful thinking.

It’s working.

And that’s the mind-bending part — not the doubt, but the proof. I’m used to success, sure. But this kind of success — the quiet kind that grows out of soil, steeped in time and care and intention — this is different. It doesn’t scream. It doesn’t wear a badge. It just… helps.

And even as it does, I still hear the voice in my head:
Are you sure this is real? Are you sure you’re not just lucky?

But here’s what I’m learning to say back:
Luck doesn’t grow plants.
Luck doesn’t relieve pain.
Luck doesn’t shift a dog’s body weight in a week.

I’m not just making these things — they’re making me. Sharpening my faith, my eye, my understanding of what “real medicine” might actually mean.

So no, I don’t need to silence the doubt. I just need to keep stacking the evidence until it speaks louder than the fear.

And so far?
It’s speaking loud and clear.