This week I posted on LinkedIn for the first time in a very long time.
I've been on the platform for years. I've scrolled, I've liked, I've commented occasionally. But posting something of my own without a career trigger? I could never quite bring myself to do it. In person I've got comfortable saying what I think. I'll join a conversation, share an observation, push back when I disagree. That took time to develop but it feels natural now. Online felt completely different. Like a stage I hadn't earned the right to stand on.
I had two fears going in.
The first was that it would disappear without a trace. That I'd hit post, watch the numbers flatline, and quietly move on having confirmed what I suspected: that nobody was particularly interested in what I had to say.
The second was worse. That people would read it and think: what a basic observation. That I'd add nothing to a conversation that was doing perfectly well without me.
So I sat on the sidelines for a decade. Watching. Lurking. Telling myself I'd post when I had something worth saying. Here's the thing about waiting until you have something worth saying: you always will. The bar you set in your head is never the one that actually matters.
I posted anyway. It was about staying quiet for too long, about marathon training, about deciding to show up differently. Nothing groundbreaking. Just honest.
The result? 3,170 impressions. 107 likes. 9 comments. For a first post from someone who had never been that vulnerable online before, I'll take that.
But the number that actually matters is harder to measure. I feel like I'm part of the conversation now. I'm already thinking about the next one. That first post performed better than I expected, but more than that, it made me feel more like myself.
If you're sitting on something, reading this as a lurker, wondering whether your observation is worth sharing: it probably is. The conversation isn't a finished thing waiting to be judged. It needs people to show up to it.
The photo at the top is one I took of a Tracey Emin print that my partner brought home from an exhibition recently. I see it every day, but sometimes forget how important the question in it is.
For me, going forward, in moments of hesitation, the only question I want to be asking myself is always the one on that print.
Why be afraid?
