Permission to Be Seen
Finding the courage to lead when no one gave you permission—and why visibility might be exactly what your cause needs.
I Don't Remember Anyone Giving Me Permission to Become a Leader
I don't remember anyone officially giving me permission to become a leader.
This is mildly concerning because I apparently went ahead and did it anyway.
Two years ago, I was a retired elementary teacher asking questions about the uncertain future of Lorado Taft Field Campus, a beloved environmental education property in Oregon, Illinois.
I wasn't appointed to anything. I didn't have a title. I didn't have an organization behind me. And I certainly didn't wake up one morning thinking, You know what sounds fun? Let's try to save 141 acres, navigate government bureaucracy, build a nonprofit, speak publicly dozens of times, and occasionally question every life choice that brought me here.
I simply cared.
So I asked another question.
Then I made another phone call.
Then I walked into another room.
Eventually, I found myself standing at microphones, talking with elected officials, appearing in TV news special features, on the radio and podcasts, participating with multiple community organizations and platforms, being featured in numerous newspaper articles, and introducing myself with words that initially felt almost too large to say:
"I'm Julie Bassett, founder and president of Together for Taft."
Somewhere between the first question and the fiftieth public conversation, something unexpected happened.
I became visible.
And visibility, I have learned, requires a kind of courage we don't talk about nearly enough.
Who Does She Think She Is?
There is a peculiar thing that can happen when a woman begins taking up more space.
Sometimes the first person to question her is herself.
Who do you think you are?
I know that voice.
It has appeared before speaking engagements. It has appeared when I've received recognition. It has even appeared after I've shared good news publicly and suddenly wondered whether celebrating something meaningful had crossed some invisible line into bragging.
Apparently, I had internalized a rather complicated rule:
Do meaningful things. Just don't look too pleased about them.
Visibility has forced me to challenge that rule.
Because I have discovered that being visible and seeking attention are not the same thing.
Sometimes visibility is simply what happens when you stop hiding the work you were called to do.
Visibility Can Be an Act of Service
Together for Taft taught me this.
When I stood before decision-makers, the message was never simply, Look at me.
It was:
Look at this place.
Look at these 141 acres.
Look at the generations who learned here.
Look at what could disappear.
And most importantly:
Look at what might still be possible.
There are moments when the thing we love needs someone willing to stand in public and speak for it.
That requires visibility.
Not because the person is more important than the cause, but because sometimes a cause needs a face, a voice, a story, and a human being willing to say:
This matters.
And then remain standing when someone disagrees.
Permission Comes Home
For much of our lives, many of us become remarkably skilled at waiting for permission.
- We wait to be invited.
- Chosen.
- Credentialed.
- Validated.
- Recognized.
We imagine that somewhere there is a person holding a clipboard who will eventually approach us and announce:
Congratulations. You are now officially qualified to trust yourself.
At some point, permission has to come home.
We stop asking:
"Will they let me?"
And begin asking:
"Am I willing to let myself?"
- Am I willing to enter the room?
- Ask the question?
- Offer the idea?
- Risk rejection?
- Be misunderstood?
- Let someone think I'm too much?
And perhaps harder still, am I willing to succeed without apologizing for being seen doing it?
You Don't Have to Feel Ready
One of the greatest misconceptions about courage is that courageous people somehow stop being afraid.
My experience has been considerably less glamorous.
Sometimes courage looks like walking into the room while your confidence is still catching up in the parking lot.
- You speak anyway.
- You learn.
- You get something wrong.
- You adjust.
- You return.
Over time, something changes.
You begin accumulating evidence.
I can do this.
Not perfectly.
Not without criticism.
Not without occasionally wondering what on earth you're doing.
But you discover that you can survive being visible.
And eventually, you begin trusting the person who keeps showing up.
The Work May Need You to Be Seen
Today, when I think about visibility, I think much less about being noticed and much more about being available.
- Available to contribute.
- Available to speak.
- Available to lead.
- Available to become.
Together for Taft taught me something:
I am not waiting passively for someone else to decide whether this vision matters. I am showing that it matters.
Perhaps the same is true of our lives.
There may be something you care about deeply enough that it is asking you to become more visible than you are comfortable being.
- Walk into the room anyway.
- Raise your hand.
- Submit the proposal.
- Tell the story.
- Say your name.
- Let yourself be seen.
You may discover that you were never waiting for someone else's permission after all.
You were waiting for your own.
