I remember rehearsing full-out in my kitchen for my house plant. I remember my voice shaking in the first two minutes. I remember thinking as I was talking, “Oh my gosh I sound nervous. Stop it!”
This week, I’m sitting in a hotel room getting ready to open a conference — and I feel weirdly.... calm?
I don’t think it’s because I suddenly mastered the art of public speaking. I think it’s because of reps.
When I look back at the last two years of my business, there wasn’t one bold, cinematic leap. It was about a thousand tiny baby steps stacked on top of each other.
Launching my website on my 38th birthday sounded fun and celebratory. Working backward, it actually meant:
If I’m launching as a speaker and coach, I need a speaker reel. If I need a reel, I need a speech. If I need a speech, I need somewhere to give it. If I need somewhere to give it, I have to ask.
So I asked. One room said yes. I gave it for free. I learned.
Looking forward from there:
Because I had a reel, I could send it. Because I had free reps, I improved. Because I improved, a few paid gigs started trickling in. Because those gigs happened, my nervous system slowly stopped flagging “keynote” as danger.
Our brain is wired to default to the familiar and flag the unfamiliar as “unsafe”. So exposure = familiar = this is no longer a threat.
This very newsletter followed the same pattern.
I wanted it launched before the Kit conference so I could network with an actual action for people to take. That meant:
Learning a new platform. Choosing a name and logo. Publishing something (while terrified!) — even when my audience was 12. Doing it again the next week.
Now there are 70+ weekly posts. A daily writing rhythm. A body of work.
So when a literary agent was considering the possibility of my book, she didn’t have to imagine what I might write. She could read it.
It only happened because I picked a date and kept showing up.
Even weight-training tells the same story.
I don’t lift heavier because I’m naturally good at this. I lift heavier because I once started lighter.
I tried out different programs til I found one I loved (les mills bodypump) I felt awkward. I questioned whether I even “looked like someone who lifts.”
Confidence is not a trait reserved for certain personalities. It’s stacked evidence. It’s the byproduct of small, sometimes boring, slightly uncomfortable steps repeated long enough that they compound.
And to be clear — I’m sure my stomach will do a flip as I walk out there today, but I’m still walking out there. (One more rep!)
If there’s something I want a year from now, the question isn’t “Am I ready?”
It’s “What’s the smallest step I can take this week that starts to tell my brain ‘this is familiar’?”
Most of us build goals like the ladder on the right — giant gaps that require a burst of motivation.
Lose 30 pounds. Write a book. Launch a business. Be more confident.
Those aren’t first steps. Those are outcomes.
The ladder on the left? That’s the unsexy, but very real way.
Tiny rungs look like this:
Get in shape → Walk 10 minutes. Learn one lift. Schedule two workouts. Start a business → Buy the domain. Offer it once. Get one testimonial. Write a book → 300 words a day. Publish weekly. Create a rough outline. Speak with confidence → Volunteer for a small room. Record it. (Force yourself to watch it.) Then do it again. Improve a relationship → State one preference. Have one honest conversation. Schedule recurring quality time.
Alright, your turn? What's the next right baby step? Hit reply and let me know! -Katie
Writing this to you from Saint Kate art hotel in Milwaukee! I speak in just a few hours! 💛
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After hitting rock bottom, I've embarked on a radical journey. For one year, I'm taking a break from all cynicsm and trying out some crazy self-improvement experiments (so you don't have to.)