Workplace confidence is one of those things everyone assumes you either have or don’t. It's treated like a personality trait—like being tall or good at small talk. But from what I’ve experienced, and what I’ve seen in others, confidence isn’t an innate gift. It’s a skill. One that gets stronger the more you use it, stretch it, and sometimes totally fake your way through it until it catches up.
I wasn’t always confident at work. In fact, there were seasons when I quietly second-guessed every email, kept my camera off during calls to avoid being seen, and treated every piece of feedback like an indictment of my worth. It wasn’t dramatic—it was internal. But it was exhausting.
Now, I feel solid. Not perfect, not invincible, but anchored. I can speak up in meetings. I can ask for help without spiraling into shame. I can walk away from a tough day without it crushing my sense of value. And no, this shift didn’t come from a single moment of enlightenment—it came from a series of honest, often unglamorous changes that added up over time.
One of the biggest myths about confidence is that it looks like charisma—big energy, lots of talking, constant eye contact. But for many of us, that’s not only unrealistic—it’s misaligned with who we are.
What helped me early on was reframing confidence as consistency. Could I show up prepared? Could I follow through on what I said I’d do? Could I deliver clean, thoughtful work—even if I didn’t chime in on every call?
Turns out, you don’t have to be the loudest in the room to be respected. You just have to be dependable. Confidence became a byproduct of trusting myself to handle the basics well. And once that trust builds, it grows. Quietly. Then steadily. Then noticeably.
Many of us wait to be invited into confidence. We wait for someone to validate our ideas before we share more. We hope someone notices our effort before we advocate for a raise. We wait for the timing to feel “right”—whatever that means.
Eventually, I realized that was a losing game. No one was coming to hand me a golden envelope of confidence. So I started practicing what I now call “low-stakes bravery.” Speaking up in meetings where the outcome wasn’t make-or-break. Asking a small question when I didn’t understand something, instead of nodding along. Offering an idea in a Slack thread, even if it wasn’t groundbreaking.
Each small act was a vote of confidence in myself. Not because I knew I was right—but because I was willing to show up, contribute, and learn out loud.
Smart Move: Practice micro-bravery. Don’t wait to be fearless—start by being 10% braver than yesterday. That’s usually enough.
I once worked under a manager who second-guessed everything I did. Deadlines were arbitrary, feedback was vague, and praise was nonexistent. I spent more time worrying about how I was being perceived than actually doing my job well.
Compare that to a later role, where my manager was clear, constructive, and calm. I was given room to experiment. Encouraged to ask questions. And when I messed up (because we all do), it wasn’t a crisis—it was a conversation.
The difference in how I showed up? Night and day.
I learned to gravitate toward people who made me feel competent and seen—and to set boundaries with those who fed my doubt. That meant being a bit choosy about mentorship. Saying no to toxic collaboration. And sometimes, asking to switch teams or projects when the dynamic was draining.
Confidence is contagious, but so is insecurity. Choose your environment accordingly.
When something went wrong at work, my default used to be “What did I screw up?” It was all self-blame, no reflection. Eventually, I realized how unhelpful that mindset was—and how rarely it gave me useful data to grow.
So I started doing what I call a “self-audit” instead. After a tough call, a big deliverable, or even just a random Tuesday, I’d ask:
This reframing helped me get specific without spiraling. I could name wins without downplaying them. I could name mistakes without attaching my worth to them. Confidence doesn’t come from pretending you’re flawless. It comes from knowing you can handle whatever happens—and use it to get better.
Early in my career, I avoided feedback like it was a dental appointment. Necessary, but filled with dread. What changed was how I framed it. Instead of viewing feedback as judgment, I started viewing it as insight—access to how my work landed, how I could grow, and where I might be getting in my own way.
I also got specific when I asked for it. Rather than saying, “Do you have any feedback for me?” (which usually gets a generic response), I’d say:
That small shift opened the door for meaningful, useful input. And more importantly, it made me feel in control of my own growth—which, surprise surprise, breeds real confidence.
Smart Move: Ask for “one small tweak” instead of “general feedback.” It lowers the pressure for both sides—and usually sparks better insights.
This one took a while to unpack. For a long time, I thought being professional meant being polished, composed, and emotionally neutral at all times. I tried to be the version of myself I thought my workplace wanted: less opinionated, less vulnerable, more “together.”
Spoiler: it made me feel stiff, disconnected, and constantly performative.
Once I started showing up as me—with warmth, curiosity, honesty, and the occasional nervous laugh—I felt more grounded. Not because I had less to prove, but because I wasn’t burning energy pretending to be someone else.
Professional doesn’t have to mean robotic. You can be warm and competent. You can admit you’re still learning and lead with confidence. In fact, the more I leaned into my full self, the more trust I built. Confidence isn’t about having no cracks. It’s about being rooted enough that those cracks don’t shake your foundation.
But confidence isn’t a race. It’s personal. Contextual. And layered.
Some people find their voice early. Others take time to grow into theirs. I was in the latter camp—and that’s okay. The more I focused on my own path, the more solid I felt. Not because I was progressing quickly, but because I was progressing intentionally. And I wasn’t skipping over the messy middle.
You don’t need to be confident by 25 or promoted by 30. You just need to keep showing up—with curiosity, consistency, and a willingness to learn. The rest will come.
There’s a version of workplace confidence that’s all posture and polish. But there’s another version—one I’ve found to be far more powerful. It’s rooted in awareness, not arrogance. It’s flexible, not rigid. And it’s built from small moments of courage stacked on top of each other.
If you’re in the thick of self-doubt right now, that doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you’re learning. Growing. Practicing.
And if nothing else, take this with you: confidence doesn’t mean never being afraid. It means not letting fear drive the whole car.
