Unseen in Plain Sight

I’ve always loved presenting ideas. There’s something magical about taking a concept, weaving it into a story, and watching the lightbulbs go off in people’s minds. I’m proud of my ability to capture a room—my confidence, my clarity, my presence. It’s the kind of energy that makes people sit up and lean in.??

I remember the first time I gave a big presentation at work. I felt electric. I had rehearsed, refined, and poured my heart into it. As I spoke, I saw nods of agreement, smiles of encouragement, and even a few “Wow” moments ripple through the room.??

When I finished, my boss gave me a firm handshake and said, “You really nailed it. You’ve got something special.” My colleagues lined up afterward to tell me how inspiring my delivery was, how fresh my perspective felt. I left the room feeling unstoppable, like I’d truly arrived.??

But over time, something shifted.??

At first, it was subtle. A comment here, a quiet hesitation there. “Maybe tone it down a bit next time,” someone suggested after a meeting. “You come across a little intense,” another colleague remarked over coffee.??

I brushed it off. Not everyone gets my style, and that’s okay, I thought. But then I started noticing the way people’s expressions would tighten when I spoke up. How their smiles felt more strained, their laughter a little forced.??

And then came the feedback—direct, unmistakable.??

“You’re a little too bold in meetings. Maybe dial it back so others don’t feel overshadowed.”??

“I think your approach could come off as intimidating. Try to soften your delivery.”??

I started to wonder: Was my voice too much? Was I too much???

So, I adjusted.??

I spoke more softly, choosing words that wouldn’t ruffle feathers. I avoided taking the lead in discussions unless asked. I started presenting my ideas in ways that blended into the room instead of standing out.??

And it worked.??

The tension eased. The feedback became kinder. My presence felt less disruptive to the team. But here’s the thing: I wasn’t me anymore.??

Every time I “toned it down,” I felt a part of myself shrink. My confidence, my clarity, my energy—everything that made my voice powerful—was dimmed. I became smaller to make others more comfortable.??

Have you ever felt that? Like you have to reshape yourself, shave off the edges of your personality, just to fit into a mold someone else made for you???

I’ve done it for years now, and I’m tired. Tired of holding back the best parts of me. Tired of pretending that my boldness is a flaw when it’s actually my strength.??

And here’s the thing: you don’t know me.??

You’ve imagined who I might be as you read this story. Maybe you see yourself in me, or maybe you’ve pictured someone completely different. But chances are, you didn’t picture me.??

I’m a Black woman.??

For some of you, that changes everything. For others, it doesn’t. But the truth remains: my voice—my bold, powerful voice—isn’t a threat. It’s a gift.??

So, the next time you’re in a meeting and someone speaks with confidence, don’t tell them to tone it down. Instead, ask yourself why their voice makes you uncomfortable. And then, do the work to unlearn that discomfort.??

Because we all deserve to be heard. Fully. Freely. Authentically.??

Thank you for reading my story. Follow my profile for more stories about owning your voice your truth and your power.

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