Personal Reflection
I Am Enough
Willow Roots Leadership · willowrootsleadership.ca
There are moments that change us — and moments we forget changed us. Sometimes, years later, we stumble across proof that the change happened. And it stops us cold.
While cleaning out my Google Drive recently, I found a paper I’d written for a course within my Teaching Adults Certificate. It was the last paragraph — a thank-you to my instructor. I had completely forgotten it existed.
I read it eight years later, sitting at my desk, and I had to stop.
“The highlight of this course and my life, to date, was when you asked to use one of my assignments as a sample for other classes. I have received awards for my dedication and hard work in my career, but for someone who struggled all through elementary school and high school with reading, writing and comprehension, I can only describe this feeling as surreal.
I often have bouts of ‘I’m not smart,’ ‘I’m not good enough,’ and ‘I’m not deserving.’ Your request sparked a flame in me that I will nurture for the rest of my life. THANK YOU!”
— From my Teaching Adults Certificate paper, written eight years ago
The Voice That Tells You You’re Not Enough
Most people who knew me professionally during those years would not have guessed what was happening inside. Awards. Recognition. Responsibility. From the outside, the picture looked like confidence. From the inside, it sounded like: you’re not smart. You’re not good enough. You don’t deserve to be here.
That voice is familiar to far more people than ever say so out loud. It shows up in the leader who prepares twice as hard as everyone else, not out of diligence, but out of fear of being found out. It shows up in the professional who deflects compliments, convinced that the next mistake will reveal the truth. It shows up in the student — or the adult returning to education — who sits in the back row, just in case.
For me, it had roots in elementary school and high school — years of struggling with reading, writing, and comprehension in environments that weren’t always equipped to meet me where I was. Those early experiences leave marks. They write stories about who you are and what you’re capable of. And those stories follow you — into the workplace, into leadership, into every room where you wonder if you belong.
What a Single Moment Can Do
An instructor asked to use one of my assignments as a sample for other classes. That’s it. That’s the whole event. On paper, it’s small. In practice, it was the crack in a wall I’d been building since childhood.
Not because it proved I was smart. Not because it solved anything. But because it was evidence — real, external, undeniable — that contradicted the story I’d been telling myself for decades. And it came from someone whose judgment I trusted.
That’s how this works. The voice inside doesn’t respond to general reassurance. It responds to specific moments of genuine recognition — moments where someone sees something real in you and names it. Not flattery. Not encouragement for its own sake. Something true.
You never know which moment will be the one. The feedback you give someone this week. The recognition you offer in a meeting. The assignment you ask to share as an example. One of those might be the crack in a wall you can’t even see. That’s reason enough to mean every one of them.
What Eight Years of Distance Teaches You
Reading those words eight years later is a different experience than writing them. When I wrote them, I was grateful — but still fragile. Still not entirely sure the flame would hold.
Eight years on, I can see what that moment planted. The M.Ed. I didn’t know I’d pursue. The coaching credential. The continued learning, the courses, the intentional investment in becoming more equipped to lead and serve. None of that was a straight line from that paragraph. But that paragraph was part of the ground it grew from.
What I didn’t know then — and know now — is that the voice that says “you’re not enough” never fully disappears. It just gets quieter as you build evidence against it. Every course completed. Every challenge navigated. Every moment you show up, do the work, and discover you were capable of more than you thought.
The flame you nurture becomes a record. And eventually the record is louder than the voice.
For Anyone Sitting With That Voice Right Now
If you’re reading this and recognizing something — the voice, the doubt, the feeling of not quite belonging in the room you worked so hard to get into — I want to say this directly:
You are enough.
You are important.
You are intelligent.
Not in spite of your struggles. Not once you’ve proven it. Right now, exactly as you are.
The struggles you had in school weren’t evidence of your limits. They were evidence that the system didn’t always know how to reach you. That’s a different thing entirely.
Keep the things you write. Keep the notes, the papers, the emails someone sent that made you feel seen. One day you’ll find them in a Google Drive you’d forgotten, and you’ll need exactly what’s in them.
Believe in yourself. The flame is worth nurturing.
Willow Roots Leadership · willowrootsleadership.ca
