Learning to show up Differently

I’ve been asked more than once, why don’t you post? Or told, you should post more.

And I’ve never had a clean answer.

Not because I couldn’t. I’ve had cool experiences, been part of things I’m proud of.

But I’ve always kept to myself. Not loud. Not in your face. I’ve always valued privacy.

So when the question comes up, the answer never fits in passing. It’s deeper than what most people are asking or willing to take in.

But the truth is this:

There was a version of me who believed she needed permission to be seen.

Because for me, being seen meant being judged or misunderstood. It meant being decided on before I had the chance to fully arrive.

So I made myself smaller.

I softened my voice in rooms that required me to hold my point of view. I held back in moments that called for presence. I found subtle ways to apologize for my ambition, for my perspective, for the space I occupied.

Never out loud.
But in the ways I held back.
In the ways I edited myself before anyone else could.

I didn’t always recognize it as fear. Maybe preservation. Humility at best.

As a Black woman, living in my fullness has always felt like exposure. The kind that’s interpreted, not appreciated. The kind that reduces, not elevates.

So I learned early how to navigate it. How to be enough without tipping into too much. How to be excellent while still palatable. How to manage my presence.

And that kind of negotiation cost me. My voice. My sense of self.

If I’m honest, it doesn’t only affect how I show up in the world, but also how I show up within my own community, where support is often assumed, expected to come naturally.

But that hasn’t always been my experience.

There have been moments, subtle and overt, where it felt like there was only room for one. Where lifting another was conditional. Where opening a door for another woman felt, to some, like a loss.

Those moments didn’t just pass. They stuck with me, creating distance where there could have been collaboration and expansion.

Because real connection has never felt tangible, and turning toward the internet felt like forcing something that was never there.

So I’m choosing something different for myself:

To take up space fully, without pre-adjusting. Without waiting to be invited.

This is the space I’ve been writing from. The version of me that found safety in staying hidden, and the one learning how to step forward regardless.

Because the freedom was never just in having a seat at the table. It was in creating my own.