To My Fellow Postgrad Peeps: It's Okay To Feel Like A Fraud (Sometimes)

Follow us on Instagram, TikTok, and WhatsApp for the latest stories and breaking news.

I carry an invisible weight on my back, one built from the constant fear of never being "enough".

Why lah?

There's a storm of unwritten thoughts spinning in my head, each screaming louder than the last:

"There's no room for mistakes."
"Fake it till you make it."
"Chill, it won't kill!"

This is what impostor syndrome sounds like for me.

It creeps into everything: how I speak, how I walk, how I show up in academic spaces. It silences me even before I've had the chance to speak.

And when did all this begin? Honestly, I'm not even sure. Maybe somewhere between my first few very questionable mistakes and the countless revision requests, including one that came with the dreaded 'not good enough', in bold, blinking neon (okay, maybe just in my mind, but still).

Sometimes, I ask myself: "Why am I feeling this way? Shouldn't I be grateful? Shouldn't I feel lucky just to be here?"

But that was exactly six months ago.

It wasn't a magical overnight recovery. No one came to magically fix my thesis, like how you hope a good teh tarik would fix everything. It took a lot of small, stubborn decisions to choose myself again.

Until one day, I just had to pick myself up, take a deep breath, and wake up from the mental trap I was living in. Not because the system suddenly became kinder, or because the challenges vanished into thin air, but because I decided to see myself differently this time.

I stopped chasing perfection as proof of my worth. I stopped treating mistakes as death sentences. And slowly, I started giving myself the grace I was always so quick to give others.

Some days, I still stare at my laptop with the "What am I even doing?" face. Other days, I celebrate small wins like sending one email or managing not to cry in front of my supervisor (progress, right?).

But I've realised something important: I'm not the only one feeling this way.

Many of us are quietly navigating the same storm — second-guessing ourselves, dealing with unclear expectations, trying to stay afloat while pretending to look composed. It's exhausting. But it's also weirdly comforting to know we're not alone.

I've learned that it's okay to say, "I'm struggling." That you can be grateful and overwhelmed at the same time. And that healing isn't about becoming some ideal, flawless version of a student; it's about learning to be okay with the version that exists now.

You're not weak. You're not dramatic. You're just human, doing your best in a system that doesn't always make space for softness or struggle.

And maybe that's the first step to making academia a little less noisy and a little more human.

If this resonates with you, or if you just want to rant over teh tarik, let's talk.

Hajar Ibrahim is a made-in-Malaysia wife, mummy, academic trainee, and full-time dental student, navigating the highs and lows of academic life one teh tarik at a time.

Passionate about both dentistry and psychology, she can often be found wrestling with her thesis (and patients) or daydreaming about her next escape to the nearest beach.