It Was Hard to Hear: “You’re Holding Yourself Back."

Someone recently told me something I did not particularly enjoy hearing:

"You're holding yourself back."

Excuse me?

I'm working full time. I'm going to school. I'm raising a family. I'm writing. I'm networking. I'm applying for opportunities. Half the time, I feel like I'm running my own personal corporation where I am simultaneously the CEO, CFO, COO—and occasionally the unpaid intern.

And I'm the one holding me back?

Respectfully, I would like a second opinion.

But there was something different about hearing those words out loud.

It's easy to argue with something in your own head. You can explain it away, justify it, reorganize it, put it in a cute little mental folder labeled "Things I'll Deal With Later," and move on.

Hearing someone else say it?

That folder apparently falls right off the shelf.

Once my ego finished filing its formal complaint, I had to sit with the possibility that maybe they weren't questioning my work ethic, my ambition, or whether I was doing enough.

Maybe the barrier wasn't how hard I was working.

Maybe it was how hard I was working to protect myself.

That one hit differently.

I started recognizing how much I had been overcompensating.

When you've spent enough time feeling like you have to prove yourself, you can walk into every room prepared to do exactly that—even when nobody has asked you to.

You explain more.

You defend yourself before anyone has challenged you.

You make sure people know you're capable.

You anticipate how you might be perceived before you've even given people the opportunity to get to know you.

And somewhere in all that protecting, proving, preparing, and overthinking, I had to consider something I really didn't want to consider:

What if I was giving off the wrong energy?

Not because I wasn't confident.

Maybe because I was trying too hard to prove that I was.

There's a difference.

I thought I was communicating:

"I know what I'm capable of."

But maybe sometimes the energy underneath it was:

"Please don't underestimate me."

Ouch.

One comes from confidence.

The other comes from protection.

And protection isn't necessarily bad.

Sometimes we build armor for a reason.

Maybe we've been underestimated before. Maybe we weren't heard. Maybe we've walked into rooms where we felt we had to prove we belonged. Maybe someone else's opinion made us question abilities we once felt certain about.

So we adapt.

We protect.

We prepare.

We put on the armor.

And eventually, we get so accustomed to wearing it that we forget we're still wearing it.

That was the uncomfortable part for me.

Something that once protected me may have eventually started preventing people from fully seeing me.

Apparently, the armor was a little much.

And maybe that's one of the stranger parts of professional growth.

Sometimes the next level isn't another degree, another certification, another accomplishment, another perfectly prepared answer, or another opportunity to prove what you can do.

Sometimes growth is quieter.

It's walking into the room without rehearsing your defense.

It's listening without preparing your rebuttal.

It's being open to feedback without immediately explaining why you did what you did.

It's letting your work speak without immediately backing it up with a PowerPoint presentation, three references, supporting documentation, and Exhibit A.

Apparently, confidence can be quiet. Who knew?

But there's another part of this realization that matters.

Recognizing the barriers I may have created for myself does not mean every barrier I've encountered was imaginary.

Sometimes people will underestimate us.

Sometimes opportunities won't come.

Sometimes organizations won't recognize potential.

Sometimes we genuinely need more experience, education, development, or simply another chance to demonstrate what we can do.

Both things can be true.

Someone else can create a barrier for me, and I can unknowingly create one for myself.

Recognizing mine doesn't excuse theirs.

It simply gives me something I can actually change.

And perhaps that's what I finally heard when someone told me:

"You're holding yourself back."

They weren't telling me to work harder.

Trust me.

I already know how to do that.

Maybe they were telling me I didn't have to work so hard to prove I deserved to be there.

That is a very different lesson.

I can't control every door someone chooses not to open for me.

I can't control whether someone recognizes my potential.

I can't control whether another person thinks I'm ready.

But I can pay attention to the energy I carry when I walk up to that door.

I can ask myself whether I'm showing up ready to contribute—or ready to defend myself.

I can recognize when protection has become overcompensation.

And I can stop standing outside doors I've never even tried to open because I've already decided what might happen on the other side.

So, yes.

It was hard to hear that I might be holding myself back.

Mostly because I was hoping the problem was everyone else.

That would have been significantly more convenient.

Unfortunately, personal growth has once again ruined a perfectly good opportunity to blame somebody else.

For now, I'm learning that growth may not require me to become louder, tougher, or more impressive.

Maybe it requires something much harder:

Taking off some of the armor and trusting that who I am underneath it is already capable of walking into the room.

Still learning. Still questioning. Apparently, occasionally getting called out.

- KDS