Part 3: The Realization and Resolve

Months passed, and I became a master at fitting in. I knew exactly how to modulate my voice to be just loud enough, how to keep my ideas neutral enough, how to smile in meetings just long enough to signal I was approachable but not “too much.”  

But the truth was, I hated it.  

Every day, I felt a little more like a shadow of myself. My ideas, once bold and vibrant, were diluted. My voice, once powerful and commanding, felt like it belonged to someone else.  

One morning, I found myself in the office early, pacing the boardroom with my laptop in hand. I was preparing for another presentation, but something felt off. I looked out the window at the city skyline and tried to remember how I used to feel about these moments—how the adrenaline and excitement used to fuel me.  

Instead, I felt hollow.  

I thought back to the first big presentation I gave—the one where I walked out of the room on air, where my confidence lit up the space, where people couldn’t stop talking about my ideas. When did that person disappear?  

Then, it hit me.  

She didn’t disappear. I had buried her.  

I had let the world’s discomfort with my presence shrink me. I had dimmed my light because someone, somewhere, decided it was too bright. And that realization brought a wave of emotions: sadness, anger, frustration, and finally, determination.  

I wasn’t going to let this happen anymore.  

At that moment, I made a choice. When the room filled for the presentation, I stood tall and looked out at the faces around me. Some familiar smiles greeted me, but I also saw the skeptics—the ones who seemed to weigh every word I said, the ones who had quietly asked me to “tone it down.”  

But I wasn’t presenting for them anymore.  

I clicked the first slide, took a deep breath, and let my voice carry across the room. I spoke with the clarity, passion, and conviction that I had hidden for too long. The energy in the room shifted. Some people leaned forward, others sat back, arms crossed, but I kept going.  

When I finished, the room was silent for a moment. Then someone began clapping. Another joined, and then another. It wasn’t thunderous applause, but it was genuine.  

I walked out of that room feeling lighter than I had in years.  

Here’s the thing: If you haven’t guessed by now, I am a Black woman.  

For years, I’ve navigated spaces where my confidence, my boldness, and even my very presence were seen as “too much.” But they’re not “too much.” They’re exactly what they need to be.  

And maybe my story feels familiar to you. Maybe you’ve been told to tone it down, fit in, or take up less space. Maybe you’ve felt the weight of everyone else’s expectations pressing on your shoulders, making you question if being yourself is worth the risk.  

Let me tell you: it is.  

I’m done dimming my light, and I hope you’ll stop dimming yours too. We all have a song, a voice, a presence that deserves to be heard—loudly, boldly, unapologetically.  

So, the next time you feel the urge to shrink yourself to make others comfortable, ask yourself: Why should I?

The world needs your light.  

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