She stood at the front of the room, speaking with absolute conviction. Hands gesturing, voice steady — she owned the space like she had done this a hundred times before. The only problem? I couldn’t quite follow what she was saying.
It wasn’t the accent. It wasn’t the speed. It was just… the words. Some didn’t land the way she intended, the grammar twisted in ways that might make an English teacher lose sleep. But here’s what struck me — none of that seemed to bother her. She wasn’t nervous, she wasn’t stumbling, and she definitely wasn’t apologizing.
At less than 20 years old, she had already mastered something that had taken me years to even attempt: the ability to stand up, speak, and own her space — flaws and all.
I was so caught up in how she was saying things that I completely missed what she was saying. More importantly, I almost missed what she was showing me.
Because let’s be honest, standing in front of a room full of strangers and making your voice heard? That’s not easy. I’ve known people (myself included) who’ve scrapped entire speeches over a mispronounced word. And yet, here she was — powering through with sheer confidence.
And it got me thinking: How many times have I let the fear of imperfection hold me back?
Like, take my early days of motherhood. I was determined to nail it. I had all the books, the feeding schedules, the sleep charts — I was basically running a NASA-level operation, but for a baby. I wouldn’t even step outside unless I was 100% sure my little one was well-fed, well-rested, and wrapped like a burrito in the exact right temperature.
And yet, despite my meticulous planning, my baby would cry. Not because he was hungry or sleepy (I had that covered), but because of something I hadn’t accounted for — maybe his socks felt weird, maybe a pigeon cooed too loudly, maybe the universe just wanted to remind me that control is an illusion.
But did my baby ever hesitate to express himself? Nope. He was the most confident little being, yelling his heart out when something wasn’t right, with zero concern for how it sounded. He didn’t care if people judged his wailing technique — he just knew he needed to be heard.
And maybe that’s the key. Maybe confidence isn’t something you wait to feel. Maybe it’s something you decide to wear, like an outfit. You put it on, straighten it out, and walk into the room like you belong. Because the truth is, you do.
And I’m still working on it.
Few months ago, I was watching my 7-year-old son construct a magnificent tower of building blocks, a true architectural marvel in his mind. He was meticulous, focused, and completely in his own world. But then, as he reached for the final, crowning block, the whole thing wobbled, swayed, and collapsed into a colorful pile of plastic chaos.
I was ready with a comforting phrase, a “it’s okay, you can rebuild it.” But none of that was necessary. He didn’t frown. He didn’t sigh. He looked at the wreckage, his eyes wide, and let out a huge, joyful laugh. “It’s a new fort!” he declared, and immediately started building again, with a completely different design.
He didn’t see the collapse as a failure. He saw it as a new opportunity. And in that moment, I realized that true confidence isn’t about building a tower that never falls. It’s about knowing that when it does, you can just laugh at the pile of blocks and start over, maybe with an even better idea.
I’m still working on speaking with confidence. But at least now, I’m trying to remember that even if my grand plans collapse, it’s just a chance to build a new fort.
~Ashmita — learning-to-build-new-forts-from-piles-of-blocks
#LostInTranslation #PowerOfCommunication #BeyondWords #OwnYourVoice #AshmitaWrites #UnscriptedConnections #ParentingHumor #ChildhoodLessons #Resilience #Confidence #DaryenTeaches
—
This post was previously published on medium.com.
Love relationships? We promise to have a good one with your inbox.
Subcribe to get 3x weekly dating and relationship advice.
Did you know? We have 8 publications on Medium. Join us there!
***
–
Photo credit: La-Rel Easter on Unsplash
