I spent years chasing confidence. What I wanted was comfort.
I enter the foyer outside the auditorium where the registration for the event is taking place. It’s a big space, and it’s bustling with people from all walks of life. Women and men in tidy suits stand alongside others in more casual dress. Excited energy fills the air. People chat animatedly in anticipation of the three-day seminar to come.
I walk up to the registration table, confirm my details and that I will be attending for the full three days. In return I receive my name tag and a showbag of merchandise. I feel a prickle of nervousness at what the day will bring. Then I reassure myself, I am not anxious, I am excited.
Turning from the table I look out to the sea of unfamiliar faces filling the foyer. I hesitate. A wave of imposter syndrome looms momentarily as I realise where I am. Do I really think I belong here? But I shake it off.
I’d only ever seen comfort from the outside.
I used to wonder why I felt so different to everyone around me. I would observe the mannerisms of people I looked up to, the way they moved, the way they spoke and acted towards others, and I would attempt to mimic it. I would learn quickly how to pick up on what people liked or didn’t like and I would keep safely in the bounds of what would ensure I fitted in.
Social occasions were draining. The stress of constantly monitoring cues, body language, tones of voice and attempting to interpret them as a means to guide my own behaviour was exhausting. I would change my opinions, go along with others’ interests and conform in the name of fitting in. But no matter what, I still felt out of place.
I spent so many years trying to master what I thought others wanted me to be that I didn’t even know who I was. Only when I had significant health issues did it force me to drop the performance. And what I learnt from that experience was invaluable.
There were people around me then who were also unwell. Who didn’t seem to have a lot of confidence either. They didn’t fit in. They felt different too. Yet they seemed to know who they were. ‘I like what I like,’ one man said, ‘even if it’s not very cool.’ He was comfortable in his own skin.
Suddenly, I realised that being comfortable in my own skin is not necessarily the same thing as being confident.
People felt the same worries I did – about fitting in, about being liked, about being good enough. I wasn’t really different at all. And when I came to learn this, I realised something else:
I realised that I am enough.
Gradually my confidence began to come alive. Because when I realised I was enough – exactly as I was – the need to have to be like everyone else began to fade away. Suddenly I could tune into my own needs and wants again. And funnily enough, when I started to listen to my own heart, belief in myself grew too.
Now, knowing I am just like everyone else when I walk into a crowded room of strangers, I can feel as though I am worthy of being there.
As the third day of the seminar comes to an end, I make myself a cup of tea. I stand to the side of the room and I look around. My shoulders are relaxed, my breathing is steady and I know that I am fine. Because underneath it all, I think we are each the same.
We all just want to belong.
Have you ever chased confidence, thinking it would make you comfortable? And where do you feel most like yourself?
I write from lived experience, not as a clinician or expert. What I share is what I’ve noticed and what has helped me, not advice for everyone. [Why I write this way]
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How Do You Step into the Person You Are Becoming? | Learning Who You Are Versus Who You’ve Been for Too Long