The critical voice in our heads is often louder than reality.
Having a crisis of confidence can be incredibly demoralising. I touched on “imposter syndrome” in a previous article for VetAnswers, and over the past 6–12 months I have found myself deep in that same struggle.
It’s hard not to take things personally. My business is a niche one, and as a result it rises and falls with the fortunes of the economy. According to the analytics, my website continues to receive steady traffic each month, but those visits are not converting into sales. That disconnect is tough.
It becomes even harder when well-meaning professional colleagues comment — without directly pointing the finger — about the prices I charge. I understand their perspective. We all want pet products and services to be affordable for our clients. Ironically, in previous years I was often told I wasn’t charging enough and that I should at least introduce a consultation fee.
I have always wrestled with my conscience over pricing. Recently, I’ve made the difficult decision to wind down the enrichment side of my business after finding it increasingly difficult to compete with large retailers and online marketplaces. Many of these reatilers also offer cheap pet wheelchairs with no service, no advice, and often questionable quality.
It can be difficult not to question your own value when people compare your services to cheaper alternatives. Yet time and again I am reminded that service, experience and support matter just as much as the product itself.
The truth is, my business excels because of the service I provide — not just to pet owners, but also to fellow pet health professionals. Even so, I still have to constantly remind myself that I am good at what I do. That can be surprisingly difficult.
I was fortunate to have a father who was always incredibly positive and believed in me more than I believed in myself. He hoped I would become a veterinarian (I was convinced I couldn’t handle “all the big words”). As an interstate truck driver, he was often away for weeks or months at a time. I lost him far too early — he passed away at just 49 when I was 21. I never really had the chance to grieve properly because I suddenly found myself supporting my grieving mother.
My mother was a contradiction. She made sure my brother and I were always provided for, but she also regularly pointed out my limitations. In the years before Dad’s death, she effectively raised us alone while he was on the road. She passed away in December 2025 after 20 years of estrangement that she had initiated. Even in her final days in hospital, she maintained that distance. It was only when she became unresponsive that a kind nurse allowed me to sit with her so she wouldn’t pass alone.
With the loving support of my wonderful husband, I have come to recognise that much of my self-doubt and lack of confidence stems from my mother’s subtle put-downs and emotional manipulation. Those critical voices still echo in my head today.
As a quiet, observant introvert, it’s easy for me to assume people don’t like me or that I’m not good enough at what I do. But I’m learning to challenge those thoughts.
What lifts me up are the good people around me — and those surprise phone calls from potential clients who say they were referred by someone I’ve helped. In those moments, my heart sings. There is no better feeling than knowing I’ve made a real difference for an animal in need.
The purpose of this article is not to seek sympathy. It’s to speak to everyone else who is quietly struggling with the same feelings:
You are not alone.
It is human nature to feel this way sometimes. But there are people who care about you — even if they don’t always say it out loud. The fact they are still in your life says something powerful.
Always be kind — not only to others, but especially to yourself.