Tell me about a first day as something…and I’ll tell you about the day I stopped believing I wasn’t good enough.

Tell us about your first day at something — school, work, as a parent, etc.

I still remember my first day as a volunteer advocate.

For years before that day, I had convinced myself I didn’t belong in spaces like that. I told myself I wasn’t qualified enough, healed enough, or strong enough to sit beside people in their most vulnerable moments. I carried this quiet belief that my past disqualified me—that my story was something to manage, not something that could ever be useful.

Walking into that role for the first time, I didn’t feel confident. I felt nervous, unsure, and deeply aware of my own history. There was a part of me waiting to be exposed as “not enough,” waiting for someone to realize I didn’t belong there.

But that day taught me something I hadn’t fully understood yet.

I wasn’t there because I was perfect or untouched by pain.

I was there to listen.

To sit in the uncomfortable silence.
To believe someone when they spoke their truth.

To remind them sometimes without words that they weren’t alone.

Looking back now, I can see how powerful that realization was. My lived experience wasn’t a weakness. It was the very thing that allowed me to show up with empathy, patience, and genuine understanding. What I once tried to hide became the foundation of my advocacy.

That first day didn’t magically erase my self-doubt. But it cracked something open. It planted the seed that maybe I wasn’t “behind” or “unqualified”—maybe I was being shaped.

I didn’t leave that day feeling like I had mastered anything. I left with a quiet sense of alignment, like I had stepped into a space I had been preparing for long before I knew it had a name.

Now, when I think back on that first day, I see it for what it really was:
not the start of advocacy, but the moment I stopped letting shame decide where I was allowed to belong.

Sometimes purpose doesn’t arrive with confidence.
Sometimes it arrives as a whisper saying, “You can be here too.”

And sometimes, saying yes to that whisper changes everything.