Today, I did something that made me uncomfortable — and instead of reacting the way I normally would, I chose a different response.

I shared some information with my team. Shortly after, a team lead asked where I got the information from. I told her it came from a combination of research and my experience working in the emergency room. She then told me the information was wrong.

Normally, that would’ve triggered something in me — defensiveness, urgency, the need to immediately prove myself. Instead, I responded calmly. I said I would do more research and added a simple smiley face. I also mentioned that the information aligned with a note that had been shared by someone higher up.

She then asked me for an account number. I didn’t respond right away. I went to lunch.

During my lunch break, I paused. I reflected. And instead of reacting emotionally, I decided to be intentional.

Before lunch, I had already emailed someone in the emergency room coding department to confirm whether the information I shared was correct. When I came back, I continued researching. I even called a local hospital and spoke directly with a nurse in the emergency department. I asked specific questions about triage levels — what is considered life-threatening versus non-urgent. She confirmed that the information I shared was correct, with the only difference being that their system goes up to a higher level.

I documented everything for my own records.

Internally, there was still a part of me that felt challenged — even offended. The thought crossed my mind: How dare you question me? But I caught myself. I reminded myself that I’m operating in a leadership environment now, and leadership requires strategy, not reaction.

So I followed up with the team lead. I calmly shared the nurse’s confirmation, explained the distinction between trauma classifications versus emergency department triage, and clarified where the confusion likely came from. Her response was simple: Thank you for following up. I’ll see what information I can send out.

That was it.

Later, the person I had emailed from the coding department also confirmed that the information I originally shared was correct. I saved it — not to prove a point, but to honor my process.

What stood out to me most wasn’t being right. It was how proud I felt of myself.

My nervous system wanted to react. I wanted to defend myself. But I didn’t. And that showed me something new about who I’m becoming.

In a quiet moment afterward, I said to myself: You’re strong. You’re knowledgeable. You’re powerful. And then another truth followed — you’ve been playing small for a long time, so people are used to that version of you.

When you begin to step into your power, when you grow, when you speak with confidence, there will be moments where others unconsciously try to pull you back — not always intentionally, but because it disrupts what they’re used to. That doesn’t mean you retreat. It means you move wisely.

Growth doesn’t always look loud. Sometimes it looks strategic. Sometimes it looks like patience. Sometimes it looks like choosing not to crash out in a long email just to feel validated.

I realized that this version of me — the grounded, thoughtful, strategic one — has always existed. I just used to express her recklessly. Now, I’m learning how to move with intention.

Like a groundhog slowly emerging from its hole — testing the environment, taking its time — I’m learning to come out without fear. Without rushing. Without shrinking.

Reflection

Today reminded me that growth doesn’t require force. It requires trust — in yourself, your knowledge, and your ability to handle discomfort without abandoning who you are becoming. I don’t have to prove my power by reacting. I can honor it by choosing how I respond.

And maybe that’s what leadership looks like for me now — not playing small, not being reckless, but allowing myself to emerge slowly, confidently, and on my own terms.