Why We All Feel Like Imposters (But Rarely Say It Out Loud)

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There’s a phrase most of us carry quietly, tucked somewhere between our ambition and our exhaustion:

“I feel like a fraud.”

Imposter syndrome, or Imposter Phenomenon, is defined as:

A persistent doubt concerning one’s abilities or accomplishments, accompanied by the fear of being exposed as a fraud, despite evidence of ongoing success.

Sound familiar?

That voice — sometimes a whisper, sometimes a roar — that says:
“You’re not good enough… who do you think you are?”

Even after nearly eight years of building something no one had done before, a global nonprofit supporting mental health in one of the most stigmatized industries, I still hear it. I hear it on stages I’ve been flown across the world to speak on. In rooms full of peers discussing topics I’ve lived, researched, and shaped. Even after creating resources that didn’t exist until Pineapple Support built them, and fighting for change when it felt impossible.

And still, that voice creeps in:

“People don’t think you’re capable. Maybe they’re right.”

Brené Brown puts it perfectly:

“Shame is the most powerful, master emotion. It’s the fear that we’re not good enough.”

Imposter syndrome is shame in motion, a tangled knot of fear and self-doubt that tightens in the spaces where we stretch, grow, and lead.

The most ridiculous part? Almost everyone is quietly carrying it, convinced they’re the only one who feels this way.

So why do we feel like imposters?

Psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes, who first identified imposter syndrome in the 1970s, found that high-achieving people often attribute their success to luck, timing, or external factors, anything but their own abilities. Up to 70% of people will experience these feelings at some point.

Here’s why:

1. Our brains are wired for comparison.
Evolution taught us to constantly assess our place in the group. Social media has turned that into a never-ending highlight reel.

2. New territory triggers doubt.
When we’re learning something new, even if we’re good at it, discomfort gets misinterpreted as incompetence.

3. We internalize early messages.
If we grew up believing we had to be perfect to be worthy, adulthood becomes a minefield of “don’t mess this up.”

4. Success feels unfamiliar.
Dr. Valerie Young explains that if you’ve spent most of your life feeling “not that person,” succeeding can feel like a clerical error, not a win.

5. We glorify overworking.
We equate value with exhaustion. If we slow down, the fear creeps in:
“If I stop, they’ll see I’m not good enough.”

And yet, none of these beliefs reflect the truth of who we are or what we’ve achieved.

So what is success, really?

We measure it by titles, hours worked, milestones hit.
Rarely by impact, fulfillment, or balance.

Imposter syndrome convinces us we must outrun our insecurity, work harder, push further, prove ourselves endlessly, just to earn space we’ve already earned.

But as Stef Sword-Williams writes in Fck Being Humble*:

“We spend so much time second-guessing ourselves that we forget other people are probably doing the same. We’re all winging it; some of us are just louder about it.”

And she’s right.

I am still winging it.
We all are.

Whether you’re an innovator, disruptor, thought leader, or simply someone trying to change your corner of the world, most of the journey is figuring it out as you go.

So why don’t we talk about it?

Because imposter syndrome thrives in silence.
We bottle it up, smile through it, and pray no one notices.

But what if we told the truth?

What if we normalized saying:

“I’ve achieved incredible things… and sometimes I still feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Imagine the shift, the collective exhale,  if more of us said it out loud.
Because not feeling “enough” isn’t a sign we’re failing.
It’s a sign we’re human.

So here’s my rebellion against imposter syndrome:

I’m choosing to acknowledge it.
To speak it.
To own it.

To remind myself, and you, that we belong in the rooms we’ve worked so hard to enter, even when our inner critic tries to convince us otherwise.

Because at the end of the day, we’re all just people trying our best.
And that is more than enough.

with love,

Leya

I thought I had to be perfect to lead

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For most of my career, I carried an unspoken rule:
Leaders have to have it all together.

No cracks.
No doubts.
No messy human moments.

Just competence, confidence, and a perfectly polished exterior.

There are quite a number of leaders I know who project exactly that, the kind of poised, untouchable professionalism that looks effortless. One day, when I grow up, maybe I’ll be just like them.

But today?
I’m choosing to embrace the version of myself I’ve always been:
a little quirky, a little sideways, a little messy, and completely real.

Like many founders (and as I’ve spoken about openly before), I am no stranger to imposter syndrome. I can walk into a room full of brilliant minds, CEOs, therapists, compliance directors, creators, and still feel like the teenager who never quite fit in. Add to that the reality of being a high-masking autistic woman running a mental-health charity in an industry the world doesn’t always treat kindly… and, well, you can imagine the pressure I put on myself.

To those who lead from the front and make it look easy:
I salute you. Truly.

But perfection isn’t the sign of great leadership.
Humanity is.

Everyone is learning.
Everyone is trying.
Everyone is human.

This is something I spoke about recently during a Wellbeing by PS training:
If you want a healthy team, you can’t just tell them it’s okay to ask for help.
you have to show them.

People don’t learn from policies.
They learn from permission.
And they learn permission by witnessing vulnerability.

When I stopped trying to tuck away the “odd” parts of myself, the quirks, the humour, the autistic wiring that makes my brain work at slightly unexpected angles, something surprising happened:

I started forming stronger connections.

At shows, in boardrooms, at conferences (9am with terrible coffee or 9pm with terrible wine), the more I allowed the real me to show up, the more others showed up as themselves too.

Conversations became more honest.
Collaborations became smoother.
Relationships became deeper.

And, to my knowledge, no one has run away yet.

Of course, professionalism still matters.
Boundaries matter.
Consistency matters.

But I’ve learned that professionalism doesn’t require dimming your light, even when that light is quirky, chaotic, or unmistakably “Leya.”

When you let people see who you really are, they respond with who they are.
And strangely enough, that makes everything, leadership, teamwork, community, so much stronger.

Because most people aren’t looking for a flawless leader.

They’re looking for a human one.

with love,

Leya

Starting a Non-Profit Was Never the Plan

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If you’d told me ten years ago that I’d be running an international mental-health nonprofit, attending board meetings, and using phrases like “strategic partnerships” without irony… I would have laughed, finished my drink, and probably asked you to pass me the glitter.

Back then, I was what you might generously call a free spirit. Others might say “wild child.” Either way, my life ran on instinct, spontaneity, and the kind of chaos that felt charming rather than concerning.

And yet here I am, founder and CEO of Pineapple Support, a nonprofit providing free and low-cost mental health support for people working in the online adult industry. Since we launched, we’ve connected thousands of individuals with sex-worker-friendly therapists, facilitated support groups, created educational resources, built global partnerships, and, most importantly, saved lives.

How did this happen?

The Accidental Beginning

Pineapple Support was born out of heartbreak, frustration, and the unbearable weight of watching people in my community struggle without support. The stigma was crushing. Resources were nonexistent. Loss after loss kept hitting us. I didn’t have a plan, but I had a fire in my chest saying: Do something.

And to be clear, I did not plan on starting small.
I aimed for world domination from the very beginning.
Because I only know how to go balls-deep.

I flew home from the January shows, sat down, and started building. By April, we had launched. No sponsors. No guarantees. Just determination, a very nervous savings account, and a refusal to wait for the “right moment”, because people were suffering now.

In that first month, therapy requests started trickling in, two or three at a time, then steady growth. And a few incredible therapists, who still work with us today, offered to delay invoicing until we secured funding. Their generosity built our foundation.

By October, we’d secured our official 501(c)(3) status.
By December, our first sponsor arrived: Pornhub.

I will always be grateful to them for believing in our mission when it was held together mostly by passion, stubbornness, and caffeine.

The Transformation I Didn’t See Coming

Here’s what no one prepares you for:
Starting something like this doesn’t just change your work.
It changes you.

If someone had told me everything I’d need to learn, the emotional growth, the leadership challenges, the internal rewiring, I’m not sure I would’ve had the nerve to start. That’s not the motivational TED Talk line I’m supposed to give you, but it’s the truth.

I went from someone who couldn’t keep a houseplant alive to someone managing a global organisation, overseeing budgets, fundraising, hiring staff, negotiating contracts, and (to my own shock) actively enjoying spreadsheets.

The shift from “wild child” to “businesswoman” was not graceful.
There were mistakes, cringe-worthy emails, panic-inducing meetings, and many nights sitting in the glow of my laptop thinking, What the actual hell have I done?

But slowly, eventually… I found my footing.

Along the way, I learned:

  • Leadership isn’t about being the smartest in the room – it’s about listening to the people in it.

  • Growth is messy, uncomfortable, and usually requires admitting you were wrong more often than you’d like.

  • You can absolutely be taken seriously and still keep your sense of humour. (In fact, it may be the only way to survive.)

The Grateful Bit

I didn’t start Pineapple Support expecting it to change me. I thought I was doing it to help others. But somewhere along the way, it became the thing that helped me, too.

It gave me purpose.
It taught me resilience.
It forced me to develop patience (still a work in progress).
And it showed me that no matter how unlikely your starting point, you can grow into exactly who you need to be.

Would I do it again, knowing what I know now?
Absolutely.

Would I do it exactly the same way?
More or less.

Would I still keep the glitter?
Always.

With love,

Leya

Why Even Bother?

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Creating a world where asking for help feels brave, not broken | Building safer spaces and turning stigma into support

Someone once asked me, “Why do you care so much?”. It wasn’t meant unkindly , it was a sincere question, and it stopped me, because the answer isn’t simple.

My journey in the adult industry began almost immediately after I finished school, and it was the first place where being a square peg in a round hole wasn’t just accepted, it was celebrated.

Growing up, I was always the misfit. From nursery until the day I left school, I never quite fit the script that everyone else seemed to understand. The world often felt sharp, alien, and isolating.

Until I found this community.

The adult industry was the first place I felt seen. Truly seen. I was surrounded by people who didn’t judge, who accepted me exactly as I was. For the first time, I felt safe being myself, bold, creative, messy, complicated, and still belonging.

That acceptance helped me blossom. It gave me confidence. It gave me identity. It helped shape the person I am today.

Fast forward nearly 20 years to 2017, and the industry was hit by a series of heartbreaking losses. One after another, we lost people we cared about deeply. I watched a community I loved falling through the cracks, no support, no resources, no safety net.

I saw the very people who had lifted me up now struggling quietly, invisibly, still carrying the weight of stigma everywhere they went. People who give so much of themselves to bring others pleasure, yet are denied empathy, respect, or even basic dignity.

And when you witness suffering in a community that once made you feel whole, you don’t just look away.

It broke my heart. If I’m honest, it still does.

That heartbreak became my motivation. Giving back didn’t feel like a choice, it felt like a responsibility.

Over time, this work,  building Pineapple Support, advocating for mental health, fighting stigma, has become part of my identity. It’s been my teacher, my mirror, my greatest challenge, and my proudest creation.

It’s also forced me to recognise my own privilege.
I have a voice that gets heard. Not everyone does.

So I made it my mission to use that voice, loudly, persistently, and unapologetically, for those who feel too tired, too afraid, too unseen to speak up for themselves.

So, why do I care so much?

Because this industry gave me my first sense of belonging.
Because it continues to give to me in ways I can barely explain.
Because every day I meet people with the same spark I once had, and I know how easily that spark can dim without support.

Caring isn’t just part of my work; it’s part of who I am.
This community shaped me.

And as long as I’m here, I’ll keep giving back to it.

with love,

Leya

Leadership, Shame, and the Sacred Hidden in the Chaos

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Lately, I’ve been tired. Not burnt out, though if we’re being honest, maybe just a little, but purposefully tired. Soul-tired in the way you get when you’re pouring yourself into work that matters. Between maintaining our existing resources and preparing to launch multiple new projects over the next six months, our team is building something big. Something that saves lives, shifts perspectives, and nudges an entire industry toward compassion.

And yet, even in the midst of that purpose, I find myself sitting with shame.

Shame that whispers I should be doing more, being more, holding everything together with more grace and less chaos. Shame for being human in a leadership role that can feel like it demands something superhuman. When I miscommunicate or make assumptions, I find myself wishing I could shield my team from the fallout. They’re brilliant, passionate, and dedicated, and the truth is, I set the pace. I create the workload. I drive the vision that asks so much of all of us.

But I’m learning, slowly, imperfectly, to meet that shame with empathy.

Instead of asking, Why aren’t you doing more?
I’m asking, What do you need right now?

Instead of slipping into criticism, I’m practicing compassion.

It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s necessary. Because when you’re leading something that means the world to you, self-compassion becomes a leadership skill. A survival skill, even.

I want to say it gets easier, but it doesn’t. The goals grow. The pressure builds. The stakes rise.
But so does the impact.

And these next goals? They’re huge.
And I’ve got this.
We’ve got this.

I am endlessly grateful to every person walking this path with me, the team that believes, the partners who trust us, the community that keeps reminding us why the work matters.

The truth is, I haven’t been practicing everything we preach lately. I still make it to the gym, routine is my anchor, but after work, I crash. My social battery is empty. I haven’t checked in on the people I love, and yes, I feel guilty about that too.

But here’s what I do know:

The way we speak to ourselves matters.
Self-leadership matters.

If I can’t offer myself grace, how can I extend it to my team?
How can I offer it to the community we serve?

This work is messy.
But it’s sacred too.

Sometimes the sacred hides in spreadsheets and schedules.
In Slack messages and strategy decks.
In showing up even when you’re tired —
especially when you’re tired.

So here’s to the leaders who show up with empathy.
Here’s to the teams who hold big visions with open hearts.
Here’s to remembering that softness is strength
and rest is part of the mission.

with love,

Leya

Self-Love, Resilience, and Being True to Who You Are (Even When It’s Really Hard)

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Some days I’m neck-deep in the work of Gabor Maté. Other days, I’m crawling back to Brené Brown like the emotionally-exhausted, purpose-driven nonprofit CEO that I am.

Today is a Brené day.

There’s one quote of hers that I return to whenever the noise gets louder than the purpose — when the criticism, assumptions, and unsolicited opinions start to feel heavier than the mission:

“If you are not in the arena getting your ass kicked on occasion, I am not interested in or open to your feedback… There are a million cheap seats in the world today filled with people who will never be brave with their own lives, but will spend every ounce of energy they have hurling advice and judgement at those of us trying to dare greatly.”

Working in and advocating for the adult industry means that judgment is never far away. People form opinions quickly — about creators, about the industry, about the work we do at Pineapple Support — often without any real understanding. And yet, despite all the noise, we keep showing up.

When I founded Pineapple Support, plenty of people told me it wouldn’t work.
Too controversial.
Too ambitious.
Too difficult to fund.

But the people who really knew me didn’t hesitate. They understood that passion, purpose, and persistence can move mountains — and that the need for this work was bigger than the stigma surrounding it.

Brené talks about writing down the names of people whose opinions truly matter on a one-inch square of paper. That small square is a reminder of something powerful: most people are not qualified to give feedback on your life. If they’re not in the arena with you, fighting, failing, learning, and trying again, their opinions don’t deserve space in your mind.

I come back to that lesson often. Especially on the days when we are doing everything we can — and it still doesn’t feel like enough. When we cannot make everyone happy. When the weight of public perception clashes with the reality of running a mission-led organization.

What I’ve learned is this:

Self-love is more than self-care.
It’s being authentic even when it’s inconvenient.
It’s standing by your values when you’re misunderstood.
It’s choosing softness in a world that rewards hardness.
And it’s deciding whose voices get to come in — and whose stay outside.

To anyone building something meaningful, challenging stigma, or simply trying to live in alignment with who they are: keep going. Not everyone will understand your path, and that’s okay. Impact doesn’t always look like applause. Sometimes it looks like quiet, steady work behind the scenes that slowly changes lives, minds, and systems.

I love what I do. I love who I do it for. And I am proud — deeply proud — of the work Pineapple Support is doing to transform how our industry understands mental health, community, and care.

Let’s keep showing up for each other.
And just as importantly, let’s keep showing up for ourselves.

(Photograph from the day Pineapple Support launched at EXXXOTICA Denver.)

With love,

Leya

Key Values – What Are Yours?

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Why knowing what matters to you can change everything.

In a world that constantly pulls at our attention, our identity, and our emotional energy—especially in the adult industry—it’s easy to lose sight of one simple truth:
You are allowed to decide what matters most to you.

Your values are the quiet compass beneath all the noise. They’re not the rules you were given by your family, society, or online strangers. They’re not the labels people project onto you. They’re the core beliefs that shape how you move through the world, how you show up in your work, and the way you care for yourself and others.

At Pineapple Support, we talk a lot about mental health, resilience, and community—but values are the thread that ties all of it together. When you know what your values are, decisions feel clearer, boundaries feel stronger, and life feels a little less like it’s happening to you and a little more like it’s happening with you.

So let’s take a moment to explore them.

Why Values Matter (Especially in This Industry)

Working in the online adult industry often means navigating judgement, stigma, emotional labour, inconsistent income, blurred boundaries, and expectations that don’t always reflect your truth.
This is why grounding yourself in your values isn’t just helpful—it’s protective.

 

Values give you:

Direction

When life feels overwhelming, values point you toward the next right step.

Stability

They anchor you when people misunderstand your choices or when the online world becomes too loud.

Self-Respect

Values allow you to honour who you are without apology—even when others try to shame or minimise your experiences.

Connection

When you live in alignment with your values, the relationships you build become more authentic, supportive, and nourishing.

Common Values We See in Our Community

There is no right or wrong here. Your values are yours. But over the years, we’ve heard creators and professionals share many themes:

Autonomy – “My body, my choice, my work, my boundaries.”

Authenticity – Showing up as your real, imperfect self.

Security – Emotional, financial, physical, digital.

Creativity – Expressing yourself freely and unapologetically.

Connection – Wanting meaningful relationships despite the stigma.

Growth – Striving to heal, learn, and evolve.

Compassion – For others, yes—but also for yourself.

Maybe these resonate with you. Maybe yours are completely different. Both are valid.

 

How to Discover Your Own Key Values

You don’t need a worksheet or a therapy session (though both help!). Try starting with gentle questions:

1. What moments in your life made you feel proud of yourself?

These often point to a value being honoured.

2. What situations make you feel uncomfortable, angry, or drained?

These often signal when a value is being crossed.

3. What qualities do you admire in people you respect?

Chances are those reflect the values you hold deep down.

4. What do you wish people understood about you?

This is a window into what truly matters.

And remember: Values aren’t goals. They’re the way you want to live while moving toward your goals.

 

Living Your Values in a Judgemental World

The adult industry is full of challenges that can pull you away from what you believe in. Platforms have rules. Fans have expectations. Society has opinions. Sometimes staying true to yourself feels like an act of rebellion.

But here’s the truth we want you to remember:

Your values deserve space.
Your voice deserves respect.
Your needs deserve priority.

You are allowed to say no.
You are allowed to ask for help.
You are allowed to evolve.
You are allowed to choose yourself.

Living your values isn’t about perfection. It’s about alignment. A little more each day.

 

A Final Thought

The journey to understanding your values is really a journey toward understanding yourself. It’s a way of building a life that feels good on the inside, not just one that looks good on the outside.

At Pineapple Support, we are here to walk that journey with you.
To listen without judgement.
To support without conditions.
To remind you that your wellbeing matters—because you matter.

So, what are your key values?
Take a moment. Breathe.
And let your answer be honest, imperfect, and entirely yours.

High-Functioning Burnout Is Still Burnout

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September was a blur.
XBIZ Amsterdam, TES Prague, Venus Berlin – three countries, three stages, and countless conversations about mental health, resilience, and burnout.

The irony?
I was giving those talks while exhaustion was quietly settling into my bones.
Behind the smiles, the panels, the passion, was a body and mind running on fumes.

That’s the deceptive nature of high-functioning burnout.

It looks like productivity.
It looks like drive.
It looks like having everything under control.

In reality, it hides behind colour-coded calendars, back-to-back flights, and the relentless belief that if I just finish this one last thing, everything will be fine.

It whispers “keep going,” long after your system has nothing left to give.

Many of us in this industry, and in leadership more broadly, have mastered the art of masking. We show up because the work matters. Because people depend on us. Because slowing down feels like letting someone down.

But there is a very fine line between commitment and collapse.

After the September whirlwind, it became impossible to ignore the signs: the foggy thinking, the irritability, the emotional flatness, the bone-deep fatigue that sleep couldn’t touch. I realised the only way forward wasn’t through more pushing, but through pausing.

So October is about recovery; gentle mornings, slower days, fewer flights, and remembering that stillness can be productive, too.

If this resonates with you, take this as your permission slip to pause.

Rest isn’t laziness.
Rest isn’t failure.
Rest is what makes purpose sustainable.

High-functioning burnout rarely looks like falling apart.
More often, it looks like keeping it together so tightly that something eventually snaps.

So before it gets to that point, take a breath. Step back. Give yourself space to reset.

At Pineapple Support and Wellbeing by PS, we talk about this often, the importance of caring for yourself before you care for others. Whether you’re leading a team, creating content, holding space for your community, or simply trying to navigate the chaos of life, your wellbeing isn’t a luxury.

It’s the foundation that holds everything else up.

And like any foundation, it deserves maintenance, compassion, and time to recover.

with love,

Leya

Healing is an Act of Resistance, Defiance, and Rebellion

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Healing isn’t just about moving on from pain. It’s about reclaiming who you are.

When you’ve experienced trauma, when you’ve been hurt by people or circumstances that left scars, the journey to heal is rarely straightforward. But each step forward is a declaration: I am not what happened to me. I am becoming me again.

For those of us in the adult industry, the weight is heavier. Society often tells us we should be broken because of the work we do. The stigma, judgment, and shame can feel relentless, a message repeated until it starts to echo inside.

But here’s the truth: choosing to heal from that stigma is an act of rebellion. It’s defiance against every voice that has said you are less worthy of care. It’s resistance against the idea that your story is already written for you.

At Pineapple Support, we see this every day. When someone reaches out for therapy, joins a support group, or even whispers, “I need help,” it is not a sign of weakness. It’s courage. It’s strength. It’s rebellion.

  • Healing from trauma says: I will not let my past define me.

  • Healing from stigma says: I refuse to carry shame that isn’t mine.

  • Healing from society’s judgment says: I choose my own narrative.

And perhaps most beautifully, when you begin to heal, you don’t just transform your own life. You give others permission to heal too. Your resilience ripples outward, strengthening the community, building connection, and breaking cycles of silence.

That’s why Pineapple Support exists. To stand beside you as you heal. To provide the space, the care, and the resources to remind you that you are not broken.

You are loved. We are listening. You are not alone.

Because in a world that profits from our exhaustion and stigmatizes our struggles, healing is not passive. Healing is powerful. Healing is rebellion.

Love and Pineapple hugs,

Leya

Justification vs. Understanding: A Mental Health Perspective on Self-Work

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When we start doing the work to improve our mental health, whether that’s through therapy, self-reflection, support groups, or just trying to be better humans, there’s a trap many of us fall into: justifying our behavior instead of understanding it.

At first glance, they can look similar. Both involve looking at our past and examining why we act or feel the way we do. But one leads to growth. The other keeps us stuck.

What’s the difference?

  • Justification says: “I behave this way because this happened to me, and that’s just how I am.”
  • Understanding says: “This is where the behavior comes from, but now that I see it clearly, I have the power to change.”

Justification is passive. It can become a shield we hold up when we’re not ready to face the hard work of healing. It’s rooted in survival and defensiveness. Understanding, on the other hand, is active. It opens the door to self-compassion and accountability. It says, “Yes, this hurt me, but I don’t want to keep hurting myself or others because of it.”

Why does this matter in mental health?
Because healing isn’t just about knowing why we are the way we are. It’s about what we do with that knowledge.

  • We can recognize that anxiety, trauma, or rejection shaped our reactions—but still challenge ourselves to respond in healthier ways.
  • We can see how pain informed our coping mechanisms, without excusing harmful behavior or getting stuck in victimhood.
  • We can validate our emotions, while also taking responsibility for our actions.

Mental health work is not about blaming ourselves, nor is it about blaming others forever. It’s about taking ownership of our healing journey. That means asking: “Am I using my past as a reason to stay the same, or as a reason to grow?”

From awareness to action
Understanding doesn’t mean we get it right every time. Growth is messy. It’s okay to struggle. But when we move from justification to understanding, we unlock our ability to make new choices. We become more emotionally available, more compassionate, and more capable of living lives that align with who we want to be, not just who we’ve had to be.

So next time you catch yourself saying, “That’s just how I am,” take a breath. Ask yourself, “Is this helping me grow, or is it keeping me stuck?” You deserve the kind of healing that leads to freedom, not just familiar pain.