For the longest time, introducing myself felt like standing naked in front of a spotlight—vulnerable, exposed, and completely unprepared. I’d craft elaborate fun facts and lighthearted anecdotes, anything to deflect from the terrifying moment when I’d have to talk about me.

The truth is, I’ve never believed my resume told the real story – the ME story. It can’t capture how fiercely I’ll support a cause I believe in, or the passion that lights me up when I’m working on something meaningful. A piece of paper can’t show the depth of who you are and yet, somehow, we’re expected to distill our entire essence into a perfect 30-second elevator pitch.

The Boardroom That Changed Everything

I’ll never forget sitting at the end of a massive conference table, surrounded by what felt like 30 high-powered female executives. One by one, they delivered these polished introductions with impressive titles, notable accomplishments, grand visions for the charity work we were there to discuss. Each introduction felt more intimidating than the last.

As my turn approached, that familiar pit formed in my stomach. The closer it got, the smaller I felt. Why am I here? I kept thinking. What could I possibly contribute that these people haven’t already done better?

When the spotlight finally reached me, I mumbled my name and threw out a random fun fact, which was my go-to escape from being a part of the spotlight. It worked. The conversation moved on, and I disappeared back into the safety of anonymity.

The Power of Words and the Pressure They Carry

Here’s what I’ve learned about myself: words matter to me—deeply. I see the world through language, and I’m constantly amazed by how one perfectly chosen word can capture an entire mission, vision, or feeling.

But this love of words also creates pressure. When it comes to introducing myself, I feel the weight of choosing exactly the right words to explain who I am and what I stand for. It’s like being asked to paint a masterpiece with just a few brushstrokes.

The inconsistency makes it worse. Because I don’t practice regular self-introductions, every time feels like starting from scratch. I become my own worst enemy, recreating the wheel instead of honoring the consistent truth of who I am.

From Hiding to Shining

I decided to face my fear head on. I started putting myself in situations that required those dreaded introductions not because I enjoyed the discomfort, but because I knew growth lived on the other side of it.

Don’t get me wrong: I still get that pit in my stomach. The difference is that now I’m working through it at my own pace, with intention and self-compassion. What most people see as a simple “Hi, my name is…” I still experience that intense spotlight on my qualifications. But I’m learning that’s okay.

The breakthrough came when I developed a plan that works with my nature instead of against it. One that honors both my love of words and my need for authentic self-expression.

How You Show Up Matters

This journey taught me something profound: how we choose to be seen shapes everything. Whether you’re stepping into a professional setting, navigating personal relationships, or simply deciding who you want to be in the world, the way you introduce yourself—to others and to yourself—matters.

I share this story not because it was easy to relive, but because I wish I’d had someone who understood this struggle when I was sitting at that boardroom table. Someone who could have helped me see that my voice mattered just as much as those polished executives. Someone who knew that the clarity and confidence I was seeking were already inside me. I just needed help uncovering them.

I know there’s someone out there sitting at their own version of that boardroom table right now. Someone who’s hiding behind deflection and self-doubt, fumbling through introductions, or feeling overwhelmed by the pressure to sound impressive. Someone who’s inconsistent in how they present themselves, creating a new version of “you” every time.

If that’s you, I want you to know: you’re not broken, and you don’t have to figure this out alone. The world needs the real you—not a polished version of who you think you should be.