Reclaiming Self Worth: Rising Above the Noise

Finding your voice in the noise of self-doubt

There was a meeting years ago I’ll never forget. Not because of what was accomplished, but because of how small I felt by the time it ended.

I had worked hard on a proposal. I believed in the strategy, and I knew the data. I had rehearsed how I’d present it to the leadership team. I walked into that room feeling confident, ready to contribute, ready to lead.

What happened next took all of five seconds.

I began to present, barely past my opening statement, when a senior leader cut me off; abruptly, and publicly. Without even hearing the full idea, they waved it away, made a dismissive comment, and shifted the conversation elsewhere. The room moved on like it was nothing. I sat there, stunned. No eye contact. No rescue. No follow-up.

I sat there, silent. Frozen. A swirl of emotions hit me at once: embarrassment, anger, confusion, self-doubt. I tried to compose my face, tried to stay present, but inside, something was cracking. I wasn’t just shut down; I was shut out.

What made it worse was the quiet that followed. No one checked in. No one brought the conversation back. No one pulled me aside later to say, “That was unfair.” It was as if I had disappeared. And for the next few days, and if I’m being honest, weeks, I kind of did.

Here’s the part people don’t always talk about, the real damage from moments like these doesn’t always happen in public. It happens later, in private, when you’re left alone with the echo of what happened. That’s when the inner critic shows up, full volume.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’m not as capable as I thought. Maybe I shouldn’t have spoken up at all.

That’s how self-worth begins to erode. Not in one dramatic collapse, but through the slow, quiet accumulation of doubts that weren’t yours to carry in the first place.

I started second-guessing everything. I became quieter in meetings. Less assertive in emails. I stayed on the sidelines longer than I should have, convincing myself I was “just being thoughtful” when really, I was trying to avoid being visible.

But here’s what I’ve learned: moments like this will happen. Whether it’s in a boardroom or a breakroom, whether you’re new in your role or a seasoned leader, someone, somewhere, will challenge your worth in a way that cuts deep.

And when they do, you get to decide whether their version of you becomes your own.

For me, the turning point wasn’t one giant act of reclaiming, it was a series of small, steady steps. I started by writing again. Not reports or proposals. I began writing for myself. Journaling what I was feeling. Naming what had happened. Calling it what it was: unfair, dismissive, silencing. Giving language to the experience helped me take some of its power away. I began writing down one thing each day that I had done well, focusing on something concrete and true. A conversation I handled with care. A thoughtful decision I made. A moment I led, even if no one noticed.

Next, I reached out to someone I trusted. Not to vent, but to gain perspective. They reminded me that one person’s reaction didn’t erase the value of my voice. That I had a track record of competence and courage. That I didn’t need to shrink because someone else didn’t know how to lead with respect.

Then came the harder work, rebuilding the internal foundation. I began practicing what I now call “worth-anchoring”, which is a daily reminder of where my value truly comes from. Not from a single meeting, not from a title, not from approval. But from the clarity of knowing who I am, what I stand for, and what I’m capable of. That clarity doesn’t always roar, but it is unshakable when nurtured.

Eventually, I found my voice again. Not just in meetings, but in how I carried myself. I stopped playing small. I started owning the room again. Not because someone gave me permission, but because I remembered I belonged there all along.

Here’s the truth: when someone publicly diminishes you, it’s not a reflection of your inadequacy. It’s a reflection of their inability to lead with care.

And when we reclaim our self-worth after being diminished, we don’t just restore ourselves, we model resilience. We give silent permission to others around us to rise, too.

So if you’ve been in that chair: the one where your voice was cut off, your confidence shaken, know you’re not alone. Know the discomfort you’re feeling is real and valid. But also know this:

Self-worth is built not in one big speech, but in the quiet decision to keep showing up, even after we’ve been knocked down. It’s remembering that the negative noise around us doesn’t have to become the soundtrack within us.

You are not the moment that silenced you.

You are every moment you choose to stand back up.