I used to think I had to speak up to belong.

There’s something that happens to me when I’m in a group setting—especially when I don’t know many people. It starts as a low-level discomfort, not quite anxiety, but a kind of nervous energy that says: “Stay quiet. You don’t have anything meaningful to add.”

Even now, after years of coaching and leading conversations, that little voice still shows up sometimes.

This weekend, I attended an outdoor event where I didn’t know many people. It was a lovely gathering, and I was glad to be there. But as I moved from one group to another, I noticed how hard it was to insert myself into conversations. When someone came up to introduce themselves, I did my best to smile and respond. Yet in the back of my mind, I still heard that inner voice whispering, “They’re just being polite. Don’t say too much. People don’t really want to hear what you have to say.”

That voice isn’t rooted in truth—it’s a story I’ve carried for a long time. And I know many introverts, especially stepmoms who already feel like outsiders in their own homes, struggle with this same feeling: “Do I belong here? Am I enough just as I am?”

But over time, I’ve learned that being introverted doesn’t mean I’m not valuable in these spaces. In fact, one of my greatest gifts has always been listening.

I love hearing people talk about their travels, their work, their families. When someone shares what lights them up or what’s been weighing them down, I lean in. I ask gentle questions. I give space. And that’s where I feel most connected—not by taking center stage, but by being the person who listens with real attention.

I think back to my years behind the chair as a hairdresser. People would sit down, and without much prompting, they’d start talking. About their kids. Their relationships. Their regrets. Their hopes. I didn’t fix anything. I just listened. And you know what? That was often enough.

I’ve carried that skill into my coaching practice. Into my relationships. Into everyday interactions, whether I’m talking with a neighbor or sitting beside my granddaughter at a campfire. It reminds me that deep connection doesn’t always come from being the loudest voice in the room. Sometimes, the most powerful presence is the one that holds space for others to be seen and heard.

So if you’re an introvert—or just someone who finds group settings a little awkward—know this:
You don’t have to be the life of the party.
You don’t need to have the perfect comeback or clever story.

You just need to show up with presence.
To listen.
To care.

That’s more than enough.