Dr. Elsa John

There is a moment many women know intimately, though we rarely talk about it out loud. You walk into a quiet room and suddenly become aware of yourself—not just your body, but your presence. Your footsteps. Your voice. The amount of space you take up.

For me, it happened because of a pair of squeaky sneakers.

I walked into a quiet room, and the soles of my sneakers squeaked against the floor. It was not loud enough to stop conversation or disrupt the room, but it was enough to make me immediately self-conscious. I found myself adjusting the way I walked, trying to soften the sound before it happened.

That moment had very little to do with sneakers. It had everything to do with conditioning.

Many women—especially those who grew up navigating criticism, instability, rejection, emotional unpredictability, or trauma—learn very early to become highly aware of their impact on others. We become experts at reading rooms. We learn how to stay small, agreeable, helpful, accommodating, and quiet.

Over time, this becomes more than behavior. It becomes identity.

We apologize before speaking. We second-guess our opinions. We downplay our needs. We carry discomfort in our own bodies because it feels safer than inconveniencing someone else.

Eventually, we stop noticing how exhausting it is to constantly edit ourselves for the comfort of others.

The truth is, many women are not struggling with confidence as much as they are struggling with permission. Permission to be seen. Permission to be heard. Permission to ask for more, make mistakes, and take up space without apologizing for it.

The heartbreaking part is that many of us believe we are protecting peace when, in reality, we are abandoning ourselves.

That realization can feel uncomfortable because self-erasure is often praised in women. We call it humility. We call it kindness. We call it being easy to love.

But there is a difference between consideration and disappearance.

The older I get, the more I realize how many women are walking through life trying to silence perfectly normal parts of being human. We try to soften our emotions, our opinions, our needs, our grief, and our joy. We try not to become “too much” for anyone around us.

But being noticeable is not the same thing as being a burden.

Healing, I am learning, is not about becoming the loudest person in the room. It is about no longer believing your existence is a disruption. It is learning that you do not have to earn the right to take up space by making yourself smaller first.

And sometimes, that realization begins in ordinary moments. A quiet room. A passing thought. The sound of wet sneakers against the floor.

Having influence, making an impression, and creating a lasting impact come from knowing the value of your own voice and not allowing the disappointments of the past to shadow the potential of your future.

Poem:

"Squeaky Sneakers"

I walked into a quiet room

and suddenly became aware

of the squeak from my sneakers.

Each step pulled sound from the floor,

and I caught myself adjusting—

changing the way I walked,

trying to soften the noise before it happened.

Apologetic with each step,

I wondered who could hear it.

How quickly discomfort befriends me.

How naturally I still think

I should take up less space.

How easily I want to shrink,

to quiet my steps

and quiet myself.

An entire life spent

trying to make my presence easier

for others to hold.

But sneakers squeak.

Mine do,

and yours may too.

Still, we keep walking.

As an educator, adjunct professor, interviewer, and content creator, communication has not always come naturally to me. In fact, I have spent years learning how to communicate effectively.

For a long time, I wanted so badly to be seen and heard that I made conversations too much about me. I thought being visible meant constantly proving myself. I believed authority came from making sure people noticed my voice first.

Over time, I learned something that completely changed the way I create content, interview guests, and use social media:

People connect to stories more than performances.

That realization changed everything for me.

Now, whenever I interview someone or collaborate on content, I remind myself that even though it is my platform, my audience, and my segment, the conversation is not about me.

My role is to create a space where the guest feels comfortable enough to share their story honestly and authentically.

I want them to feel seen, heard, and valued. I want their voice to be highlighted in a meaningful way.

When people feel safe enough to tell the truth about who they are—their struggles, lessons, failures, growth, and victories—that is when real connection happens.

Too many people create content simply to post something online, but storytelling creates engagement in a completely different way.

Audiences are no longer only looking for information. They are looking for authenticity. They want to connect with real people and real experiences.

That is why I believe storytelling is one of the most powerful tools in social media today.

Not polished perfection. Not constantly chasing viral moments. Not making every post about yourself.

Real stories build trust. Real stories create emotional connection. Real stories make people stay.

One thing I have become especially good at is helping creators collaborate with guests in a way that centers the guest’s experience instead of making interviews feel transactional.

I help people create conversations where guests understand that the episode is about their story, not the host trying to dominate the spotlight.

When guests feel comfortable and respected, they naturally open up more, and audiences can feel the difference immediately.

I also teach creators how to work smarter, not harder, when it comes to content creation.

One authentic conversation can become multiple pieces of content across several platforms.

A single interview can turn into short-form videos, quotes, reels, discussion topics, clips, and audience engagement posts.

Repurposing content is not about being repetitive; it is about maximizing meaningful moments strategically.

Another important lesson I share is learning to use social media as a business tool rather than only as a consumer platform.

That mindset changes everything.

Businesses understand the importance of strategy, promotion, budgeting, and visibility—and content creators should think the same way.

If your message matters, then promoting your content should matter too.

I often encourage creators to think intentionally about budgeting for promotion the same way businesses budget for marketing.

You do not need thousands of dollars to grow your platform, but you do need to think strategically about visibility.

Social media should not only be a place where we endlessly consume everyone else’s content while neglecting the value of our own voice.

At the end of the day, people may forget a perfectly edited video or a trending post, but they will remember how your story—or the story you helped someone else tell—made them feel.

In today’s digital world, that kind of connection is what truly creates influence.

The Cost of a Woman’s Silence

There is a particular kind of silence that many women learn early in life. It is not always enforced through direct words or rules, but through observation, expectation, and subtle correction over time. You begin to understand what is acceptable, when it is appropriate to speak, and when it is better to remain quiet. More importantly, you begin to recognize what happens when you step outside of that boundary.

Growing up in a South Asian cultural environment, I was aware of clear expectations about what it meant to be a woman. Strength was not necessarily discouraged, but it was expected to be expressed in ways that did not disrupt the structure around you. You could be capable, intelligent, and even influential, but within a certain framework. Those boundaries were rarely defined explicitly, but they were understood. Over time, they shaped how you thought, how you communicated, and how much of yourself you felt permitted to express.

For many women, this becomes most apparent when their voice begins to carry weight. As opinions become more formed and perspectives become more defined, there is often a shift in how those expressions are received. What may once have been overlooked can begin to feel as if it is being evaluated. You become more aware of how easily you can be perceived as overstepping, even when you are simply being honest.

In many male-driven environments, particularly within traditional communities, there is often an unspoken expectation that leadership, direction, and authority are primarily held by men. Women are expected to support, contribute, and maintain, but not necessarily to lead or challenge. This dynamic is not always aggressive or intentional. In many cases, it is cultural and inherited, which makes it even more difficult to recognize and question.

At the same time, silence is not always shaped by culture alone. For many women, it is also shaped by personal experience. When you have lived through childhood trauma or environments where your voice was dismissed, overlooked, or unsafe to express, silence can become more than a habit. It becomes a form of protection. You learn to hold things in, minimize your presence, and avoid drawing attention to yourself. Over time, that learned response layers onto cultural expectations, making it even harder to separate what you were taught from what you have carried.

The result is a deeper kind of tension. It is not just about whether you are allowed to speak, but whether you feel able to. There comes a point when what you feel called to do or say no longer fits neatly within the space you have been given, yet something within you still hesitates. When that happens, the question is no longer whether you have something to say, but whether you can push past what has trained you to stay silent.

I have felt that tension personally. There have been moments when I knew I had something meaningful to contribute, but I hesitated because I was unsure how it would be received. I questioned whether speaking would be seen as stepping out of place or creating unnecessary resistance. At the same time, I began to recognize that remaining silent was not neutral. It came with its own cost.

Silence does not just protect you from conflict. Over time, it reshapes you. It teaches you to second-guess your instincts, to filter your thoughts before they are fully formed, and to hold back even in moments where clarity is needed. Eventually, it can lead to a diminished sense of confidence in your own voice. What begins as caution can become a habit, and that habit can quietly redefine how you see yourself.

It is important to distinguish between respect and silence. Having a voice does not equate to being disrespectful, and strength does not equate to being disruptive. Many women are navigating the space between honoring their responsibilities and expressing their perspective. This is especially true for those who value roles such as wife or mother. These roles are foundational and deeply significant, requiring strength, consistency, and intentionality. However, they were never meant to replace a woman’s identity or limit her ability to think, speak, and contribute meaningfully.

The tension many women feel is not because they are unwilling to honor their roles, but because they are trying to do so without losing themselves. When expectations become so rigid that they leave no room for expression, they stop supporting women and start containing them.

This is where a shift becomes necessary. Finding your voice does not require becoming confrontational or rejecting structure. It begins with recognizing that your perspective has value, even if it is not immediately affirmed. It requires choosing to speak with clarity and consistency, even in environments where your voice is not always expected.

It also requires letting go of the idea that permission will always be given. In many cases, it will not. If you wait to be invited to speak, you may remain silent longer than you were ever meant to. Stepping forward often means accepting that your voice may not always be received comfortably, and choosing to speak anyway—with wisdom and intention.

I have already experienced what it looks like to step outside of those expectations and speak about things that are often left unspoken, particularly cultural patterns that keep women and children in positions where they have little voice. That has not always been easy, and it has not always been understood. But it has made one thing clear: silence does not create change, nor does it reflect the full capacity of who we are meant to be.

To the woman who feels like her voice is overlooked or unwelcome, it is important to understand that your value is not determined by how often you are acknowledged. Your perspective does not become meaningful only when it is approved. You do not need to abandon your responsibilities or your values to be heard, but you do need to stop assuming that your silence is required in order to maintain them.

The cost of a woman’s silence is not just what goes unsaid. It is what is slowly diminished over time—confidence, clarity, and the willingness to step forward. When enough women learn to suppress their voices, it affects not just individuals; it shapes the culture itself.

If that is the case, then the opposite is also true. When women begin to speak with clarity and conviction, even in small ways, it creates space for something different. It creates space for honesty, growth, and a broader understanding of what strength and influence can look like.

That kind of change does not happen all at once, and it does not happen without resistance. But it begins with a decision—not to become louder, but to become more honest. Not to take over, but to show up fully.

And for many women, that is where real influence begins.