A powerful personal essay exploring the journey from hiding one's authentic self to embracing visibility and truth. Inspired by Joey Contreras' musical, this piece speaks to anyone who has learned to shrink themselves for acceptance and offers permission to finally step into the light.
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Meaningful leadership growth happens during challenge and change, strengthening resilience and self-awareness. What seems like a delay is often a valuable time for growth.
Jenna Swearingen · In Her Own Words
Her Story
About Jenna
Jenna Swearingen is a Senior Trust Administrator at CBI Bank & Trust in Galesburg, Illinois, where she brings a disciplined, mission-driven approach shaped by her military background. Beginning her banking career as a teller, she quickly advanced into trust administration within six months and steadily progressed through multiple levels to reach her current leadership role. With a foundation in military service as an Army Reservist electrician, Jenna’s career reflects resilience, precision, and a strong sense of accountability. In her current position, Jenna oversees and mentors trust administrators across multiple locations, supporting teams. She serves as a key partner to trust officers, manages and supports a team of Trust Administrators, navigates new account preparation, complex documentation, and coordination with clients’ attorneys and financial advisors. Known for her hands-on leadership style, she focuses on training, workflow management, and developing confidence and capability in the next generation of trust professionals. Beyond her technical expertise, Jenna is deeply committed to employee well-being and community engagement, serving as co-chair of her bank’s wellness committee and participating in employee experience initiatives. She is also active in advocacy for mental health and veteran support, reflecting her belief in service beyond the workplace. As she prepares for Trust School and continued advancement toward a trust officer role, Jenna remains focused on combining leadership, technical mastery, and purpose-driven service in every aspect of her career.
Her Interview
Ten minutes with Jenna
01What do you attribute your success to?
I attribute my success to my military background and the mental and physical strength I gained from pushing through challenges I never thought I could handle. Serving 6 years in the reserves as an electrician taught me to work outside my comfort zone and handle stressors that not a lot of people can say they've experienced. That foundation gave me the resilience to keep pushing forward in my career. I'm also incredibly grateful for my current boss who has 10 years under his belt as a practicing attorney. He's given me every opportunity to try to be more than just the standard and has gifted me with knowledge that you can't really get anywhere else. Being a single mom of three little girls has also driven me to want more, not just for myself but for them, and that motivation keeps me working to be something better.
02What’s the best career advice you’ve ever received?
When you choose progress over perfection and let action create clarity, you stop managing for control and start leading for impact.
03What advice would you give to young women entering your industry?
Learn your industry. Know your role. Ask questions. Challenge what doesn’t make sense. And don’t allow someone else’s limited idea of what a leader looks like to become your limitation. For me, the goal has never been just to prove that I deserve a seat at the table—it’s been to challenge the idea that leadership should automatically look a certain way. I want young women coming behind me to see someone who didn’t simply accept the role others assumed she should have. I want them to know they can manage, lead, make decisions, become officers, and take up space without apologizing for wanting more. And yes, there will be times when you have to prove yourself more than you think you should. It’s exhausting, and it isn’t always fair. But every time you challenge an outdated assumption, you’re changing something bigger than your own position. You’re helping create a culture where the next woman can be recognized for what she brings to the table instead of having to first prove that she belongs there.
04What are the biggest challenges or opportunities in your field right now?
A major challenge in my field is the persistent bias that women are suited for administrative roles while leadership and officer positions are more readily given to men, which often means having to continually prove capability and competence. At the same time, there is a strong opportunity through structured development paths like Trust School and professional certifications, which provide clear pathways for women to advance into officer-level roles and leadership positions.
05What values are most important to you in your work and personal life?
The values most important to me center around advocating for others and making a real difference in people's lives. A core value for me is advocating for individuals who can no longer speak for themselves. I’m driven by the responsibility to protect their wishes, uphold their intentions, and ensure their voice is respected. This guides how I work, how I care for others, and how I move through the world. I know what it feels like to have my own voice dismissed, and I’m determined to make sure no one I speak for is ever silenced.
Her Content Hub
Articles by Jenna
The Pieces of Me I’m No Longer Afraid Of
Finding courage to step out of the shadows and embrace your authentic self.
Letting My Truth Take Center Stage
There's a moment in In Pieces—Joey Contreras' musical about love, identity, and the fragments that shape us—where the character Grey sings, "That's What I'm Good At." It's a song about someone who has learned to hide so deeply that invisibility feels like second nature. Grey doesn't just hide who he loves. He hides himself so that the truth never has the chance to take center stage.
When I heard that song, something inside me didn't just resonate.
It recognized itself.
It was quiet—like a truth I had been avoiding finally exhaled.
What I felt wasn't defeat.
It was acceptance—the honest kind, the kind that comes from finally admitting how long I had been hiding, too.
And I know I'm not the only one.
There is a quiet violence that occurs within us when we hide ourselves.
For years, I lived behind a version of myself that felt easier for the world to accept. I learned to be agreeable, composed, and careful. I learned to manage how much of myself people were allowed to see. I learned to keep the spotlight off anything that felt too vulnerable, too complicated. I didn't hide because I didn't know who I was.
I hid because I feared being seen incorrectly.
There's a difference.
Being unseen is lonely.
Being misunderstood feels dangerous.
So I disappeared in plain sight.
I softened my voice.
I shrank my truth.
I kept love, identity, and longing tucked away where no one could distort them.
And maybe you've done that too.
Maybe you've lived a life that looks fine on the outside but feels muted on the inside.
Maybe you've learned to survive by being small.
Maybe you've convinced yourself that invisibility is safer than authenticity.
If so, remember this:
You are not broken.
You are not weak.
You are not alone.
You adapted.
And adaptation is not failure.
Grey's song didn't shame me.
It named me.
It gave shape to a feeling I had carried quietly for years—the feeling of being present but unseen, capable but cautious, honest internally but edited externally. It captured the survival instinct of shrinking yourself so your truth never takes center stage.
And in that moment, I realized:
I have been living like that for far too long.
Grey hides so his truth won't become the headline.
I've done that too.
He softens himself so no one asks the wrong questions.
I've done that too.
He keeps love tucked away so it won't expose him.
I've done that too.
The song cracked something open in me—not in a way that broke me, but in a way that finally allowed me to breathe.
I'm not writing this to confess something.
I'm writing this to claim something.
I'm writing because hiding has shaped too much of my life already.
Because I'm tired of shrinking out of habit.
Because I'm done mistaking invisibility for safety.
I'm writing because I know there are people who will read this and feel the same quiet ache I felt when I heard Grey sing—people who have spent years performing a version of themselves that feels acceptable.
If my honesty gives even one person permission to breathe more deeply, stand taller, or stop apologizing for who they are, then this vulnerability has purpose.
I'm telling this story publicly because I'm finally ready to be seen.
Not the edited version.
Not the safe version.
The real one.
Letting my truth take center stage now doesn't mean shouting it.
It doesn't mean performing it.
It doesn't mean forcing anyone to understand it.
It means something quieter and braver.
It means I'm done dimming myself to keep the peace.
I'm done editing myself to avoid misunderstanding.
I'm done treating my identity like something fragile.
The version of me emerging now is not new.
She is simply no longer hidden.
She is the version who no longer treats her truth as a liability.
The version who finally trusts herself enough to stop negotiating her visibility.
She doesn't dim herself to avoid being misunderstood.
She doesn't apologize for her depth.
She doesn't shrink to make others comfortable.
She is grounded.
She is steady.
She is unhidden.
She approaches love with openness rather than fear.
She no longer treats it as something that must be hidden to remain safe.
She approaches identity with honesty.
She approaches visibility with intention.
She deserves to be seen accurately—even if not everyone sees her clearly.
If you are reading this and feel that familiar ache—if you have spent years hiding, shrinking, softening, or disappearing—I want you to know this:
You are not alone.
You are not wrong.
You are not too much.
You are not unworthy.
You are not beyond becoming.
And you deserve to live fully.
Your truth deserves air.
Your identity deserves dignity.
Your love deserves space.
Your presence deserves to be seen.
If a song can name your ache, let this article name your hope.
You are allowed to step into the light—slowly, softly, steadily—without shrinking, without apologizing, and without hiding.
You are allowed to become the version of yourself you have kept tucked away.
And when you are ready, you can let your truth take center stage, too.
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