Unlearning Invisibility

For years, I worked inside one of the biggest professional services firms on the planet—leading design and creative strategy for brand campaigns, high-stakes pitches, and global events.

I was the one who made the mess make sense.

The designer. The fixer. The quiet storyteller.

I shaped the work. Then I helped sell it.

I crafted the narrative, built the trust, sold the vision—but the work rarely carried my name.

My ideas were often retold and shared as someone else’s vision.

I had influence—but not ownership.

And for a while, that felt like enough.

Until it didn’t.

Eventually, I felt the limits of being essential but invisible—

helping others sound bold while keeping my own voice boxed up.

So I left.

Started my own thing.

And suddenly, I wasn’t backstage anymore.

I was out front.

Center stage.

Mic in hand.

Still figuring out what to say—

and how loud to say it.

At first, it felt like freedom.

Then, exposure.

No script. No cover.

Just me,

and the weight of being visible.

There’s a strange kind of whiplash when you go from helping others shine to standing in the light yourself.

When it’s your face on the homepage,

your words in the blog post,

your perspective in the room,

it doesn’t always feel empowering.

Sometimes it just feels … vulnerable.

Turns out, putting your own ideas out there is a different kind of muscle.

Not the storytelling one. Not the editing one.

The this-could-crash-and-burn-but-I’m-doing-it-anyway muscle.

And yeah, mine is wobbly.

Even my email subject lines hesitate.

That same voice that once confidently sold big ideas now second-guesses ellipses.

(I wrote more about this in a post on over-perfecting, and why done really is better than perfect.)

When you stop being the voice behind the brand and become the brand…

it’s disorienting.

Exciting, sure.

But also, unsettling.

If I don’t show up, silence fills in the blanks.

If I don’t speak up, the ideas don’t move.

There’s no big brand name behind me. No built-in audience.

Just the strength of my thinking—and whether I believe in it enough to stand behind it.

,Visibility isn’t vanity.

It’s not a trait. It’s a practice.

Just like writing. Or designing.

It takes reps. And risk. And a little bit of grit.

I’m still working that muscle.

Still catching myself shrinking.

Still trying not to edit myself out of the story.

For me, it’s part of unlearning invisibility as a creative professional, 

one post, one blog, one brave “publish” click at a time.

Because you don’t have to be loud.

But you do have to be seen.

People can’t rally around what they don’t notice.

Good work doesn’t magically speak for itself.

Someone has to speak for it.

I’m still learning to speak for mine,

intentionally,

consistently,

and without apology.

Not because I crave the spotlight.

But because my ideas deserve to be in it.

If you’re working on finding your own voice, 

in your work, your brand, or your leadership, 

I’d love to hear how it’s going.

Or help if I can.

And hey, if you’ve stuck with me to the end of this piece,

maybe these reps are starting to pay off.