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What you will learn from this episode:

• The four specific ways imposter syndrome shows up for interior designers on jobsites
• What the Delaware story actually teaches
• The concrete language shifts and the 60-second practice 

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If you’re an interior designer managing construction projects, you already know the feeling. You walk into a room, a jobsite, a contractor meeting, an industry event, and something in the air quietly suggests you don’t fully belong there. That the builders and the architects and the trades have a kind of authority you haven’t quite earned yet. And without even realizing it, you get a little smaller.

That’s what this episode is about. And I want to start with something that happened to me this week, because it sets up everything perfectly.

I live in Delaware. Not a secret. And there was an industry panel event in Philadelphia, about 45 minutes up I-95, hosted at Sub-Zero, where I have a great relationship with my rep. When the invitation came, I thought, “That looks interesting. I’m going.”

I knew walking in that it wasn’t a design crowd. Predominantly architects and builders, mostly men, people who clearly knew each other. The second I picked up my name tag, Renee Biery, Devignier Design, and nothing else, I knew it was going to register differently in this room. The industry at large doesn’t automatically see designers as part of their world.

But I also spotted a few familiar faces. A course member, Sarah, who lives in the area. Alexandra, a listener who recognized me. I made my way over. And almost every single introduction that followed went the same way.

This is my friend Renee Biery. She’s an interior designer from Delaware.

And the response, seven, eight, maybe nine times over the course of the evening, was some version of, “Wow, you came all the way from Delaware for this?“

It took me 45 minutes. It was just up I-95.

I stood there each time thinking, “Seriously, that’s what you want to ask about?” And then every time I mentioned I manage construction, I watched it register. A recalibration. A few of the builders started introducing me themselves, which told me something.

Years ago, each one of those Delaware comments would have been an invitation to feel like I didn’t quite belong in that room. And I want to be honest, I used to feel it. I used to shrink a little each time.

But this time, I leaned in. I turned the Delaware comment back on them. Asked how far they’d driven. Most said 30 or 35 minutes. Towards the end of the evening, I told them I hoped Delaware hadn’t closed the gate so I could get home. People laughed. The dynamic shifted.

And here’s what happened because I stayed in that room.

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What Happened Because I Stayed

There were two builders I specifically wanted to connect with, both firms I’d brought in to bid on a large renovation. I found the first one early. Good conversation in a social setting, which matters differently than a business one. The second I spotted a few times across the room but never made it over to.

Towards the end of the evening, I was deep in conversation with Sarah and Alexandra when someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around. It was that second contractor. He had made his way over to find me.

I also made two new contacts I’m genuinely excited about, both AV experts, an area I’ve never claimed to be well-versed in. The moment I mentioned contractors we had in common, both of them leaned in. That’s what made me interesting. Not my name tag. Not my title. The shared language of people who work in the same world.

And then there was the woman I ended up talking to near the end of the night. A project manager for one of the top construction firms in the area. Former interior designer with a commercial background who crossed over into construction management on enormous residential builds. Sharp. Cool. Fascinating perspective. I told her I wanted her on the podcast. She seemed unsure, but I’m following up anyway.

All of those conversations, six or seven real ones with actual possibilities, only happened because I chose not to disappear.

That’s what this episode is about.

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The Room Always Extends the Invitation

What I experienced in Philadelphia is a version of something that happens to designers constantly. On job sites. In client meetings. In contractor conversations. The room extends a quiet invitation to be smaller than you are.

And most of the time, it doesn’t look like a snarky comment about Delaware. It looks like this.

Over-explaining.

A contractor questions your decision and instead of answering it, you justify it. You explain the reasoning, the client conversation behind it, the three alternatives you considered. A full dissertation when the moment called for one sentence, maybe two.

That over-explanation isn’t actually for the contractor. It’s for you. It’s your way of proving you belong in the conversation. And the moment you feel like you need to prove it that hard, you’ve already handed something over.

Shrinking in the room.

A quieter voice. Less direct eye contact. Hanging back instead of walking into the space like you own it. You might not even notice you’re doing it — it just feels like being respectful, reading the room. But the trades and the contractors notice it. And that dynamic gets established in the first few minutes of a site visit. It sets a tone that is very hard to reverse.

Deferring when you know you’re right.

A contractor pushes back on your specification. A client’s husband second-guesses a decision that’s already been made. And instead of holding your ground with the full weight of your expertise behind you, you soften. You say well, what do you think? When you already know the answer. You hand the decision to someone with less information than you have because standing firm feels harder than it’s worth.

Apologizing for things that aren’t your fault.

The damaged tile. The delayed inspection. The timeline shift caused by something hidden behind a wall during demo. The apology comes out almost reflexively, before anyone has even figured out what happened or whose responsibility it is. It’s a habit built on the quiet belief that if something went wrong, you probably had something to do with it.

Each of these feels small in the moment. A softened sentence. A step back. An unnecessary sorry. But they compound across a project and across a career. They add up to a version of you that is less than what you actually are.

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What’s Actually Behind It

The root of this is imposter syndrome. Not a generic version — the specific flavor that lives inside a designer standing on a construction site or walking into a room full of builders who didn’t put her name on the guest list.

It’s that quiet background belief that you don’t fully belong here. That the contractors, the trades, the architects, they have a technical, boots-on-the-ground authority that you haven’t quite earned yet. That your expertise is real in the studio, behind the scenes, but somehow less legitimate when the walls are open and the language is different.

It doesn’t announce itself. It quietly shapes your behavior. It makes you over-explain because your decisions feel like they need defending. It makes you shrink because you don’t want to overstep. It makes you defer because conflict feels like evidence that you were wrong to be confident. And it makes you apologize because somewhere, you believe that if something went wrong, it probably had something to do with you.

Where It Comes From

I know a designer, talented, experienced, someone whose work stops people in their tracks, who spent years managing around a particular contractor on her projects. Handling things by email to avoid being on site with him. Framing decisions as suggestions. Laughing off his dismissiveness because confronting it felt harder. I finally asked her why.

She said: Renee, I always feel like I’m one wrong answer away from him realizing I don’t know what I’m doing.

That is the definition of imposter syndrome. The belief that the hard-earned expertise you’ve built over years is somehow provisional. That it can be revoked by someone in the room who challenges it.

And it’s also conditioning. Most of us were raised to be agreeable. To not make waves. To make people comfortable. The job site does not reward that. Neither does a room full of builders who didn’t put your name on the guest list. What both rooms reward is the person who knows why she’s there and doesn’t apologize for it.

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What It’s Actually Costing You

On a project, when you hand over your authority in small moments, you make your job harder every single time.

The contractor learns he can push back and you’ll soften — so he pushes back again. The client who sees you defer starts going directly to the contractor. The trade who watches you shrink starts having conversations with your client without you. Not because they’re bad people. Because you’ve shown them that’s how it works. And then you spend the rest of the project working twice as hard to reclaim what you gave away in the first few weeks.

And think about what almost didn’t happen in Philadelphia. Those two builders almost didn’t have a real conversation with me. Those AV contacts almost didn’t lean in. That project manager and I almost didn’t have a conversation that may bring her to this podcast. All of it nearly gone — because I could have accepted the invitation to be smaller than I was.

The rooms you quietly exit, the conversations you don’t have, the relationships you don’t form, you’ll never fully see that cost because you won’t know what you missed. But I can promise you it is real.

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The Shift

Your authority is not something you earn in the room. It’s something you bring to the room.

It comes from your training. Your experience. Your preparation. The scope of work you built before the project started. The contractor vetting you did before anyone signed anything. The years of showing up and doing the work. When you walk onto that jobsite, you are not walking into an audition. You are walking in as someone who has already earned the right to be there. The contractor doesn’t give you that authority. Your client already did. Your expertise already did. The only question is whether you carry it in with you or leave it in the car.

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The Concrete Practice

Mindset shifts need to land somewhere. Here’s where this one lands.

Start by noticing.

Notice when your statements end with a question mark when they don’t need to. Does that make sense? after a decision you’re certain about. 

Is that okay? after communicating something that’s simply true. 

I think maybe we should when what you mean is this is what we’re doing. 

I’m sorry, but before anything that is not your fault.

These phrases are so habitual that most designers don’t even hear themselves saying them. For one week, on every site visit, every client call, every contractor conversation, just notice. You cannot change what you cannot see.

Use the language instead.

When a contractor questions a decision you’re certain about: Yes, that’s how I specified it. If something on site is making that difficult, let me know, and we’ll work through it. One sentence. It holds the decision and opens a door. No dissertation. No convincing. Just a fact.

When a client is second-guessing something: I understand. Let me walk you through the reasoning behind it. You’re not defending anything. You’re informing them. Completely different energy.

When something goes wrong that is not your fault: Here’s what happened, here’s where we are, and here’s what we’re doing about it. Lead with the path forward, not an apology.

Take 60 seconds before every room.

Before every site visit, contractor call, client meeting, or industry event, you walk into unsure of how it’s going to go, sit in the car if you need to. Remind yourself of what you prepared, what you know, what your role is. It’s not a pep talk. It’s an orientation. You are not walking into the audition. You are walking in to lead.

When I picked up my name tag in Philadelphia, I took my time peeling the backing off and putting it on my shirt. Could I have done it faster? Of course. But it gave me 60 seconds to scan the room before I walked in. It didn’t look awkward. It just looked like someone who wasn’t in a hurry. That’s the energy.

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The Thing I Want You to Leave With

The designers who command the most respect in the rooms I’ve been in are not always the most experienced or the most credentialed. What they have in common is that they know why they’re there. They don’t apologize for taking up space in a room they were meant to be in.

I have been in a lot of rooms where I wasn’t expected. I will be in a lot more. We all will. The question is never whether that moment comes; it comes, I promise you. The question is whether you accept the invitation to disappear, or whether you lean in, turn it around, and by the end of the evening, have the room coming to find you.

You belong in that room. You just need to make sure you’re carrying that in with you when you walk through the door.

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Like this Episode?

Be sure to check out Episode #145: The Role of Courage in Construction Management

Be sure to check out Episode #111: How I’ve Managed Imposter Syndrome Throughout My Career

Be sure to check out Episode #101: The Moment I Knew ‘I Got This’ on Construction Sites