Crisis of Confidence

Noa Alterman, age 4.

I often share two jokes when deflecting a compliment.
The first: If I had the confidence in myself that others have in me, I’d be unstoppable.
The second: I only surround myself with people wracked with self-doubt — they’re the only ones I trust.

There’s truth in both. Most self-deprecating jokes hint at something real underneath — a way to acknowledge insecurity while keeping it safely wrapped in humor.

Going out on my own professionally was definitely a big risk. As I build, learn, and grow, I find myself vacillating between two extremes: the grounded belief that I am capable, knowledgeable, and deeply passionate about my work… and the whisper that maybe I don’t know what I’m doing, that I’m not the expert in the room, and that everyone else seems to have it figured out.

Confidence, I’ve learned, isn’t a permanent state; it’s a practice. Many days, I wake up sure-footed, ready to lead. Other days, I stare at the screen and wonder if I’m kidding myself. Both are part of the same journey — the truth of building something new and meaningful from the ground up.

A few weeks ago, I had one of those long moments when clarity felt just out of reach. I had been circling a project I cared deeply about, trying to decide how best to move it forward. The ideas were all there — but they needed a nudge, a bit of structure, and an outside perspective. A trusted friend jumped in with support and insight, helping me see the threads more clearly and organize my thinking.

She reminded me of something I tend to forget: I hold so much in my head — ideas, connections, strategies — that I sometimes forget to share them at the right time. I’m so used to working things out on my own that I wait until something feels fully formed before letting others see it. But that instinct to polish and perfect can backfire; sometimes people need to see the in-progress magic to understand what I’m building.

It reminded me of my elder daughter when she was small. She never wanted us to hear her sound out words or struggle through learning to read. Then one day, seemingly out of nowhere, her preschool teacher told us she could read — anything and everything. She had been quietly teaching herself until she could do it flawlessly. I understood her instinct. Who doesn’t want to skip the messy middle and reveal the finished brilliance?

But life — and leadership — don’t really work that way. Confidence grows not just in the unveiling, but in the sharing. Letting others into the process isn’t weakness; it’s trust. And it allows your “magic” to shine through even before it’s complete.

When the self-doubt starts to get loud, I lean on my circle — the people who remind me of the “magic” I bring. Not the kind born of perfection, but the kind rooted in presence, creativity, and care.

We all have our own version of that magic — if we learn how to trust it and share it, even before it’s fully polished.

So I’ll leave you with this:

What part of your magic do you keep hidden until it feels perfect?
How might you share it sooner — with confidence, generosity, and joy?
And if you could make one charitable gift today that reflects that spark — that honors your best self — what would it look like?

Fondly,

Kari