Notes from the field

Early in my career, I thought being confident meant always knowing what to say 💬.

Reality was very different.

I still remember feeling nervous whenever I had to speak with one particular senior colleague. Before every conversation, I would quietly keep a bottle of water beside me just to calm myself down while talking.

Most of the time, I preferred writing messages instead of speaking directly. It simply felt easier that way.

At that stage, I believed confident communicators were naturally born that way.

But over time, I realized something important:

Confidence is learned, not inherited.

It grows slowly, through uncomfortable conversations, small daily interactions, mistakes, learning, and experience.

Little by little, I started replacing fear with curiosity. Instead of worrying about saying the perfect thing or being judged, I became more focused on learning, understanding, improving, and simply being part of the conversation.

And one thing became very clear to me:

Good communication is not about using perfect words or sounding impressive.

It is about being genuine, respectful, and having the courage to speak and articulate yourself in the way you truly want to express.

Sometimes, the people who communicate confidently today may once have been the quietest people in the room 🌱.

A friend asked me today:

“So, what do you actually do?”

After years of experience, I realised I don’t really want to answer that question by listing my responsibilities anymore.

I’d rather answer it differently:

“What difference can my work make for the people I work for?”

I’ve had the opportunity to work from the roots and the field, close to communities and the realities on the ground, and later work across programmes, systems and strategy.

Earlier, I used to think about my work in terms of responsibilities, tasks and deliverables.

Now, I find myself asking:

What is changing because of this work?

• Is a programme stronger because we looked at a problem differently?
• Is a risk identified before it becomes a bigger problem?
• Is someone more confident to speak up?
• Is a decision better because it reflects what is actually happening on the ground?

Sometimes the impact is visible.

Sometimes it is not.

Sometimes it is simply a problem that was prevented, a risk addressed early, or a voice heard when it mattered.

After years of experience, I don’t want to measure my contribution only by what I delivered.

I want to measure it by what changed because I was part of the work.

From “What do I need to do?” to “What difference will this make?”

That shift, for me, is what meaningful work, and perhaps meaningful growth, looks like.