Confidence or Arrogance? Learning to Be Seen Without Fear

I don’t know how to be confident.

Or rather, I don’t know how to appear confident. I’m confident in my ideas. I believe deeply in the things I create, the thoughts I spend time with, the systems I build, and the work I do. But when it comes to expressing that confidence, when it comes to letting it be seen, something gets in the way.

Part of it, I think, comes from an early pattern. I don’t have a memory of either of my parents telling me they loved me (a line my therapist is probably going to retire on). I'm sure the words were spoken at some point—it's unreasonable to think I never heard "I love you". But I don't remember hearing them. And the feeling that left me with was that love was either withheld or conditional. Especially from my father. I didn’t feel supported, or safe. I didn’t feel seen in a way that made me believe I was enough just as I was. It always felt like I was being measured. That whatever I did wasn’t quite it. Not quite good enough. Not quite impressive. Not quite something he could be proud of. Let's just say that my kids won’t go a day without hearing those words—and my upbringing was in stark contrast to that.

That leaves a mark. Even when you become capable, even when you start to see yourself clearly, there’s a scar underneath. And what that scar often says is: If people don’t like me, I’m not safe.

That need to be liked runs deep. It has shaped my presence in rooms, in relationships, in leadership, and in silence. I’ve learned to read people’s reactions fast. To bow out of debates that don’t feel safe. To avoid stating strong opinions unless I really know my ground. To second-guess how things might land.

And when I do speak up, especially about things I know well or feel deeply about, it can come across as confidence. Often, it inadvertently comes across as arrogance.

That’s what’s so hard to navigate. The tension between:

• Wanting to be authentic vs. wanting to be accepted
• Feeling confident vs. fearing I’ll be seen as arrogant
• Trusting my ideas vs. not wanting to make others feel small

Here’s the truth: I am not arrogant. I am insecure. I am deeply reflective. I carry doubts and fears like everyone else. But I also have conviction. I believe in what I build, what I say, and what I choose to focus on. I just haven’t always known how to hold both of those things at the same time, publicly.

It genuinely bothers me to be seen as arrogant. But at times, it feels like the only other option is to be invisible. That’s a brutal tradeoff. I want to be known for the ideas I care about, for the work I believe in. But too often, I downplay my successes, my accomplishments, even my clearest thoughts. Not because I doubt them, but because I fear how they’ll be received. I soften my edges to make others more comfortable. I dilute my voice so I won’t be misread. And in doing so, I sometimes lose the essence of what I’m trying to say.

I’m working on that. On letting my voice take up space without apology. On allowing my ideas to stand without having to qualify them into oblivion. On making peace with the fact that some people may not like me, and that doesn’t mean I’m doing something wrong.

That’s what I’m learning to do. To be grounded in what I know without performing. To be strong in my opinions while still being soft in how I hold them. To trust that humility isn’t the absence of confidence, it’s what tempers it.

Confidence without humility is arrogance.
Humility without confidence is invisibility.

I’m trying to find the middle.

And I know I’m not alone in this.

Some of us grew up needing to be liked more than we needed to be seen. We learned to dim, to accommodate, to avoid the spotlight. But that comes at a cost. Because if you can’t be seen, you also can’t be known.

So this is me, practicing being seen. Not because I need to be the loudest. But because I want to be honest. Because I want to live and lead from a place of clarity, not fear.

That line between confidence and arrogance? It’s blurry. But I’m trying to walk it. With open hands. With a quiet mind. And with the hope that maybe, just maybe, being seen doesn’t have to mean being rejected.