The Courage to Be Uncomfortable
How a woman with severe social anxiety discovered that true leadership means showing up despite your fear.
And I’ll Speak Anyway: Finding Leadership Beyond Fear
If you watched me testify before lawmakers, facilitate a room full of organizers, or speak at a national conference, you might assume public speaking comes naturally to me.
It doesn’t.
Even now, before I stand in front of a room, my heart races. My knees shake. Sometimes I lose my train of thought. Sometimes the words don’t come out exactly the way I practiced them.
And every single time, a small part of me wonders if I should stay seated.
That surprises people because today, speaking has become a significant part of my life.
I organize communities. I train leaders. I testify on legislation. I meet with elected officials. I facilitate conversations with parents, educators, providers, and community members. I’ve had the privilege of contributing to national policy discussions, serving on advisory boards, helping plan a national child care convention, and working alongside leaders across the country to build a movement for universal child care.
But what most people don’t see is the teenager I used to be.
Growing up, I struggled with severe social anxiety. Speaking in class felt impossible. Meeting new people was exhausting. The thought of drawing attention to myself could be paralyzing. There were times when simply walking through the school doors felt overwhelming.
If you had told sixteen-year-old me that one day I would be standing before legislators or speaking to hundreds of people about public policy, I would have laughed—or more likely, quietly panicked.
Not because I didn’t care.
Because I couldn’t imagine finding my voice.
For a long time, I believed leadership belonged to the loudest person in the room. I assumed confident people were simply born different.
Then life gave me a reason to challenge that belief.
Purpose Became Louder Than Fear
I became a mother.
Like millions of parents, I entered the early childhood profession because I needed affordable child care for my daughter. What started as a practical decision became a calling.
Over nearly fifteen years, I grew from assistant teacher to lead teacher, assistant director, and eventually program director.
Every day, I witnessed extraordinary educators pouring everything they had into children while wondering how they would pay their own bills. I watched families make impossible choices between child care, housing, groceries, and work. I saw talented professionals leave careers they loved because the system demanded too much while providing too little in return.
The more stories I heard, the harder it became to stay silent.
Eventually, I realized something that changed my understanding of leadership:
Purpose didn’t erase my anxiety. It simply became louder than it.
Organizing Taught Me the Opposite
Today, I work as a community organizer because I believe the people closest to our greatest challenges should help shape the solutions.
Organizing has taught me that leadership isn’t about having all the answers or commanding the room.
It’s about listening.
Growing up, I thought my anxiety made me a poor leader because I wasn’t the first person to speak.
Organizing taught me the opposite.
The best organizers spend far more time listening than talking.
Every conversation with a parent struggling to afford child care, an educator considering leaving the profession, or a grandparent stepping in to raise grandchildren has reinforced the same lesson:
People don’t need someone to speak for them. They need someone willing to listen deeply enough to help them discover the power of their own voice.
Ironically, the thing I once saw as my greatest weakness became one of my greatest strengths.
The Fear Never Completely Disappeared
People often tell me, “You’re such a natural.”
I smile because they don’t see what happens before I pick up the microphone.
They don’t see me taking a deep breath.
They don’t feel my racing heart.
They don’t notice my hands trembling as I organize my notes.
The fear never completely disappeared.
I just stopped letting it make my decisions.
I’ve learned to ask myself a different question:
Who needs me to be uncomfortable today?
Is it the educator working a ten-hour shift who still can’t afford child care for their own child?
The parent choosing between paying for care and paying the electric bill?
The family member, friend, or neighbor caregiver quietly holding an entire community together without recognition?
The child whose opportunities depend on the decisions adults are making right now?
If the answer is yes, then my discomfort becomes a very small price to pay.
People Don’t Need Perfect Leaders
I still stumble over my words sometimes.
I still replay speeches in my head afterward, thinking about what I wish I had said differently.
I still walk into rooms where I wonder if I belong.
But I’ve learned that perfection has never changed the world.
People do.
And people don’t need perfect leaders.
They need leaders who are willing to show up anyway.
The leaders I’ve admired most haven’t been fearless. They’ve simply found something more important than their fear.
And I’ll Speak Anyway
My knees will probably shake before my next speech.
I’ll probably lose my place once or twice.
I’ll probably wonder whether I’m the right person to be standing at the microphone.
Then I’ll remember the parents who trusted me with their stories.
The educators who told me they were ready to leave the profession they love.
The families working harder than ever but still struggling to get ahead.
And I’ll speak anyway.
Not because I’m fearless.
Not because I’m the most confident person in the room.
But because I’ve learned that leadership isn’t the absence of fear.
It’s deciding that someone else’s future matters more than your own comfort.
And because silence has never changed the world.
