🎙️The Paradox of Visibility

There's this knot in your stomach. The one that shows up when you think about submitting a talk proposal, or raising your hand in a big meeting, or putting your name forward for anything that might invite scrutiny.

The voice kicks in: What if they judge me? What if I freeze? What if I'm just the "token" speaker they needed to check a box?

It's exhausting. And it's real.

But here's the thing I keep coming back to: the stuff that feels dangerous — stepping into the spotlight, being seen, having opinions in public — is exactly what moves your career from "solid contributor" to "person people actually think of."

Why visibility matters (even when it's uncomfortable)

This isn't about ego. It's about the practical reality of how careers work.

When you speak up — on stage, in meetings, even in your company's all-hands — people start associating your name with expertise. Your ideas stick. Opportunities show up: panel invitations, collaborations, projects that lead somewhere.

The data backs this up. Public speaking builds leadership presence. It expands your network without you having to awkwardly "network." It correlates with faster advancement.

But we hesitate. The risks feel immediate — judgment, interruption, dismissal. The payoff feels far away and uncertain.

So we stay quiet. Which keeps us invisible. Which keeps us undervalued.

Meanwhile, male peers often get visibility without fighting the same internal battle. They raise their hand, get the credit, pull ahead. Not because they're better — because they were seen.

The moment you've probably lived

Picture this: You're in a meeting (or a Zoom grid full of tiny faces). You have a sharp take on something everyone's dancing around. But the moment passes. You don't say it. Someone else says something similar — louder, with more confidence — and suddenly it's their idea.

That's the paradox in action.

Visibility feels risky because it exposes you. To judgment. To the "she's too ambitious" label. To being the token woman. To not measuring up. Imposter syndrome hits hard, especially when you've watched male colleagues get praised for the level of prep you'd call "bare minimum."

But staying quiet? It compounds over time.

Being overlooked stalls promotions. Lower visibility means slower growth, fewer pay conversations, watching people lap you while your work quietly powers the team. Confidence erodes when no one validates what you're doing. And the cycle continues.

The upside is real, though

Speaking — even starting small — creates momentum.

One talk leads to connections with organizers and attendees who remember you. They recommend you for the next thing. Your LinkedIn gets more engagement. You become the go-to person in your niche.

Leaders promote people they see leading conversations. That's not cynical; it's just how it works. Visibility isn't a vanity metric — it's a signal that you're ready for more.

A woman I know went from avoiding panels entirely to keynoting after just three mid-sized talks. That shift opened doors to advisory roles and a title bump she'd been chasing for years. The first few times were terrifying. Sweaty palms, second-guessing every slide. But each time, the fear shrank a little. Credibility built.

The fear won't disappear. Do it anyway.

The risk is real. But so is the regret of not trying.

Here's what I've realized: visibility isn't about being perfect. It's about being present. Your ideas are "big enough" because they're yours, grounded in your actual experience. People care because tech needs diverse voices to solve hard problems — not as a charity case, but because homogeneous thinking produces blind spots.

And yes, you can do this alongside a demanding job. Start with low-stakes stuff. Internal brown bags. Team demos. Build from there.

The biggest risk isn't bombing a talk. It's staying silent and watching opportunities go to people who simply showed up and said something.

You're not taking space that belongs to someone else. You're claiming what's yours to influence.

Pick one or two of these. Don't overthink it.

Audit your missed moments (15-20 min)
Think back over the last month. When did you have something to say but didn't? Write down three instances. For each one, finish this sentence: "Next time, I'll say..." This builds awareness without pressure. Bonus: share one small insight in a low-stakes place this week — a team Slack channel, an email thread — just to practice.

Create your 2-minute pitch (30-45 min)
Answer two questions: What problem do you solve? What's one angle you bring that's actually yours? Record yourself on your phone. Watch it back. Note what felt okay, what felt shaky. Tweak once. Use it in your next 1:1 or casual conversation. This is practice, not performance.

Find one speaking opportunity (45-60 min)
Search for conferences, webinars, or internal events in your field. Women-in-tech event lists are useful here. Find one Call for Proposals. Don't try to perfect it — draft a title and a 100-word abstract based on work you're already doing. Submit it. If submissions aren't open, save the draft as a win anyway. Action beats perfection.

Try the service mindset (ongoing)
Before your next meeting, remind yourself: "I'm here to share value, not prove myself." When you feel the urge to speak, lean in physically — forward posture signals intent. Aim for one contribution per meeting. Track it: "I spoke up and the room responded."

Celebrate something small (5 min, end of week)
Spoke in a meeting? Shared an article with your take? Sent an email pitching an idea? Write it down. Treat yourself to something small. Tell a friend. Reinforcement matters — it wires your brain for more.

These aren't huge leaps. They're small, consistent nudges. Do them, and next week you'll feel different. You're building authority one moment at a time — and the moments add up.

🌞 Keep Shining,

Barkha