The loudest people in the room aren’t usually the most confident.
They’re just the ones who’ve rehearsed the performance.
Confidence—the real kind, the kind that isn’t flammable under pressure—usually burns slow. You can’t spot it from across the room. You won’t find it at the centre of the team-building circle shouting “who’s ready to CRUSH Q4!” It doesn’t have a tagline. It isn’t always camera-ready.
Most days, real confidence walks in quietly, gets the job done, and leaves before anyone notices.
And if you’ve ever doubted yourself because you weren’t the one dominating the group chat, this one’s for you.
Confidence isn’t what we were sold
Let’s start here: most of us grew up confusing confidence with charisma.
If someone was loud, charming, good at small talk, and unbothered by public speaking, we assumed they were confident. If they made direct eye contact, cracked jokes, and could command a room, they must be sure of themselves.
But performative confidence is a skill. A good one, but still just a skill. It can be learned, rehearsed, even faked with enough time and caffeine.
It’s not the same as inner steadiness. It’s not the same as knowing who you are.
So what is real confidence?
It’s not what you think.
It doesn’t swagger. It doesn’t self-promote. It doesn’t have something to prove.
Real confidence is boring in the best way. It’s the quiet conviction that you can handle whatever comes next—not because you’ve memorized the playbook, but because you’ve been in enough uncomfortable situations to know that you’ll figure it out.
It’s earned. Slowly. Often through humiliation, disappointment, failure, and that weird team-building exercise where you had to fall backward into someone’s arms.
It builds over time, in layers.
Like scar tissue, but useful.
My theory: confidence grows where shame used to live
If I trace the times I’ve truly become more confident, they almost always follow a moment where I felt deeply unqualified. When I said yes to something too big. When I stood in a room full of people who knew more than me. When I botched the landing, then came back the next day and tried again.
Confidence doesn’t show up in the moment you win. It shows up in the moment after you don’t.
It’s what’s left when the ego quiets down and you’re still willing to participate.
False confidence vs. the real thing
There are tells.
False confidence needs applause. It thrives on comparison. It doesn’t just want to succeed, it wants to be seen succeeding.
Real confidence doesn’t need to prove anything. It can take criticism without spiraling. It can stay curious. It doesn’t get thrown off when someone else is more impressive.
Real confidence knows it’s not a zero-sum game.
And, maybe most importantly, it doesn’t panic in the face of silence.
How to build it (spoiler: slowly)
This is not a post about “power poses.”
You can do one if you want. Just don’t expect it to heal your inner child.
The unsexy truth is that confidence grows from practice. Repetition. Showing up. Doing it badly, then doing it again.
It grows when you realize you can survive awkwardness.
It grows when you stop outsourcing your value to external feedback.
It grows when you respect your own opinion, even if no one else agrees.
It grows when you don’t make it someone else’s job to believe in you first.
Confidence doesn’t always feel good
This is the trickiest part.
Sometimes, confidence feels like discomfort. Like shaky hands and a dry mouth and the terrible feeling of putting your work into the world before it’s ready.
But underneath that? There’s something solid.
It’s the voice that says, “I can do this. Even if I mess up. Especially if I mess up.”
And that’s the part worth listening to.
So, if you’re waiting to feel confident…
Stop waiting.
Do the thing before you feel ready.
Say yes to something that terrifies you.
Make a decision that aligns with your values even if it’s unpopular.
Show up somewhere you don’t feel cool enough, smart enough, or young enough to be.
And then notice, quietly, when your shoulders drop a little lower next time.
Confidence isn’t a light switch. It’s a slow burn.
Let it build.