Do You Trust Yourself to Say the Right Thing?
Lessons in Self-Trust from Diners, Waitresses, and Annie
As a kid, I was terribly, terribly shy.
My grandmother, on the other hand, was not.
Annie was the loudest, most outgoing person I’ve ever met. She was a makeup artist, musical theater teacher, singer, and just overall performer.
When I was young, Annie used to pick me up before school so we could go out to breakfast together. She loved old school diners, and as we sat there sipping our cranberry juice, she would ask the waitresses about their lives, boyfriends, and jobs. Inevitably, she would make a point of forcing me to order my own food from the waitress (something I used to hate doing) and try to instigate small talk between us.
I think because she was so naturally gregarious, Annie took my shyness as a personal affront. Her granddaughter wasn’t going to be afraid to talk to strangers. So, when it became obvious that I wasn’t going to grow out of it on my own, she made it her personal mission to make me more outgoing.
She taught me how to shake hands with strangers, how to order my meal from the waitress, how to speak to people while waiting in line at the store. Slowly but surely, she began to chip away at the hard shell of my shyness.
I always looked up to Annie. She lived a very full and loud life. Quite the opposite of my small town, shy existence.
When life got busier and I stopped seeing her as much, I decided to continue the work on my own.
In my mind, the best way to do that was to get a job in a restaurant.
Restaurants offer plenty of opportunities to chat with strangers, make small talk, and be bold. Plus, being busy definitely helps shift the shyness. It’s hard to worry about what people think when you are trying to clear a table, seat a party of five, answer the phone, run food, and smile at the same time.
But even after 10 years in the restaurant business, I still feel a lot like that shy little girl who was afraid to order her own food at a diner.
The Right Thing for Who?
The problem is I constantly worry about what other people think. Until very recently, I don't know if there was ever a time in my life when I trusted myself to say the right thing at the right time.
My mind is always filled with thoughts like What if I say the wrong thing? What if they don’t agree? What if I offend them?
Restaurants didn’t really help, they simply taught me how to read people better. After ten years of customer service, I found I could easily anticipate what people wanted to hear, how they wanted me to act, and what version of me would make them feel most comfortable.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but I began choosing my words to match the person who was speaking to me.
Sweet and responsible with my family. Sassy with friends. Flirty on dates.
We all do this to some extent—different people draw out different aspects of us. But, for me, the constant switching made it hard for me to determine what I actually wanted to say.
I was so used to saying the “right thing” that I stopped asking: right for who?
I think saying the “right thing” made me feel safer somehow. People seemed to like me better when they thought I agreed with them.
But saying what people want to hear isn’t really speaking, it’s reacting. We say what we think will keep us safe, not what we actually mean.
And words carry energy. Even if something sounds “right,” it doesn’t carry the same weight as a statement that is true, honest, authentic. After all, authenticity is the highest known frequency, higher even than love.
When I was saying things because I thought it was what people wanted to hear, I was totally disconnected from my own body and voice. I repeated things I’d heard others say because they sounded good—not because they felt true to me.
At a certain point, I had to stop and ask myself: do I actually believe that? What do I think, feel, want to say?
The Right Words at the Right Time
At first, I didn’t have the slightest idea of where to find the words I needed to express myself authentically. I felt like an actress standing in an over-bright spotlight. The audience is waiting but I had no script to follow.
As it turns out, the right words weren’t something I had to find—they were already there. I just had to quiet the noise and listen.
Because the truth is, you already know the right words. They come from somewhere deep inside you. All you have to do is allow them to move through you.
Of course, it’s not as easy as it sounds. Because allowing the words to come through requires you to be present in your body. You need to feel safe, accepted, and loved enough to speak without fear.
For me, that meant:
Limiting the time I spent with people who made me feel like I had to be someone I wasn’t. When I feel safe to be myself, my words flow with more ease.
Grounding my energy every single day. Grounding is a practice of letting go of what isn’t yours so you can come back to what is.
Paying attention to how my body felt in conversations. Listening to my body gives me so much clarity. A feeling of expansiveness means I am speaking my truth. A feeling of contraction means I am falling back into old people pleasing habits.
Tuning into my heart through meditation, journaling, and moments of stillness. The more I listen, the more easily I can hear my own internal guidance.
Clearing out the clutter—physically, mentally, energetically. Because sometimes clarity isn’t about doing more—it’s about removing what’s in the way.
What I’ve learned is this: the right words don’t come from searching. They come from being grounded. They come when you’re present, regulated, and in relationship with yourself.
Because to trust the words that come through you, you first have to trust you.
Do You Trust Yourself to Say the Right Thing?
Most of us aren’t walking around afraid of speaking. We’re afraid of what might happen after we speak.
We’re afraid of getting it wrong. Of offending someone. Of being misunderstood, rejected, challenged. We’re afraid that if we say what we really think, people will leave, judge us, shout at us, or just quietly… disappear.
So we stay quiet. Or we say something we think they want to hear. We rehearse in our heads, try to guess what the “right” thing is, and shape our words to keep the peace.
But here’s the thing: when you speak out of fear, you cannot speak from love.
Speaking from love starts with trusting yourself. Not trust that you’ll always get it right—but trust that you’ll have your own back even if you don’t.
That’s what shifted everything for me.
I finally saw that it wasn’t about always saying the perfect thing. It was about knowing that if I said something “wrong”, I could stay with myself through the discomfort. I could breathe through the awkwardness. I didn’t have to abandon myself to keep the peace.
Because the truth is, what you say doesn’t have to be right—it just has to be honest. And you don’t need to be fearless—you just need to be with yourself.
So the real question isn’t: what’s the right thing to say?
It’s: can I trust myself enough to say it?
The Real Reason I Stayed Quiet
At 33 years old, I can clearly see that my shyness was a well-formed defense mechanism. I was a deeply empathetic, sensitive kid. I didn’t like to rock the boat, upset anyone, or be misunderstood—because I felt the repercussions as if they were my own.
If I upset my sister, I cried too.
If someone disagreed with me, I felt their anger.
If I made someone feel stupid, I felt ashamed for saying it that way.
But once I came back into my body, I finally felt safe enough to speak. Being in my body is like a talisman I can hold when the waters get murky with other people’s thoughts and feelings. When I return to myself, I remember: I am safe.
Annie wanted me to come out of my shell—and in many ways, she cracked it open.
But what I’ve learned since then is this: Confidence doesn’t come from being able to talk to everyone in the room. It comes from feeling safe enough to say what’s true for you.
And while you can’t always control how your words will land, you can always choose how you will show up for yourself after you say them.
To find the right words at the right time, you only need two things:
Trust yourself to say what needs to be said.
Love yourself even when it doesn’t come out perfectly.
I’m still that shy little girl from the diner in some ways. I still get nervous to speak. I still hesitate when I know what I say will upset someone. But I no longer see that as a flaw. It’s just how I move through the world—thoughtfully, intentionally, with care.
What Annie showed me—and what years of practice helped me believe—is that I don’t have to be anyone else to be heard. I don’t need to be the loudest person in the room, or the most gregarious, or the most confident. I just need to be present in my own body, grounded enough to let the truth come through me.
If you’ve ever doubted your voice, if you’ve replayed a conversation a hundred times in your head, I see you. I’ve been you. And I know what it feels like to be paralyzed by the fear that you will get it wrong.
But trust me in this too, the world needs to hear what you have to say. Your voice matters. Your sensitivity, your softness, your consideration is what makes your voice stand out. And I hope that you share it with the world, exactly as it is.
With love and light,
This Week’s Journaling Prompt
When do you feel safe expressing yourself authentically? Who is there? What are you speaking about? Take some time this week to notice where you are and what you are doing when you express yourself with ease and vice versa.
And don’t forget to share this newsletter with someone who loves a good diner breakfast.
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