When I first started ZenZero, I was coming out of a period of real burnout that had me retreating from my network. The idea of putting myself out there wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was downright terrifying.
So I took the safer route. I posted from my brand-new business account, the one with basically no followers, instead of my personal account, where my entire professional network already knew me. It felt like a safe way to build visibility, but it was a strategy designed to be seen… by no one.
But it gave me somewhere to start. Eventually, I worked up the nerve to share more personally. And every time, the same questions showed up:
- Who wants to hear this?
- Do I sound smart enough?
- Is this too personal?
- Will people I actually know read it and wonder what on earth I’m doing?
- Will someone assume AI wrote it?
- Am I being helpful, or just super cringey?
And maybe sometimes I was cringey and no one did need to hear it. But here I was showing up, and kind, generous people did respond. Friends, strangers, and old colleagues left thoughtful comments, sent private messages, and told me that something I’d written had landed at exactly the right moment.
I found that the things I had nearly talked myself out of sharing were often the very things people wanted, and sometimes needed, to hear.
Now look at me. I write about perimenopause on LinkedIn (!?). I talk about toxic workplaces, visibility, high-stakes decision making, business, marketing, and my favourite, building your audacity.
And I still sometimes need to take a deep breath before I hit publish.
Are We Afraid of Visibility, or of Being Seen Trying?
There’s a particular kind of vulnerability in making an effort to be seen. An awkwardness that comes with actively building a personal brand.
We imagine old colleagues thinking, “Who does she think she is?” Or strangers picking apart our ideas. As a Kiwi, I know tall poppy syndrome intimately: don’t get too big for your boots, don’t draw too much attention to yourself and, for God’s sake, don’t look like you’re bragging.
Then our friend imposter syndrome turns up, right on cue, to ask, “Who am I to say this?”
Putting your thoughts into the world and growing your online visibility and brand takes a little audacity. You have to believe, or borrow enough confidence to believe, that something you’ve learned might actually be useful to someone else. And that doesn’t come naturally to many of us. It certainly didn’t come naturally to me.
You Probably Already Have Six Good Thought Leadership Posts and Don’t Know It
Recently, I was having brunch with a friend who is building her business. She knows she needs to share more to increase her brand’s visibility, but like so many people, she wasn’t sure what to say. As we chatted, she began telling me about her work. Examples, stories, the things she deals with every week. At one point, I stopped her. “You know you’ve just given me about six good posts, right?”
She had no idea what I was talking about. But when I reflected her stories back to her, she could see them: useful, specific ideas that would help people understand her work and what she was building.
It’s hard to see your own material from the inside. The things you’ve learned feel obvious because you already know them, and the experiences that shaped you feel ordinary because you lived through them. Sometimes you just need someone else to listen and hand the value of what you already know back to you.
That outside perspective isn’t there to invent a persona or manufacture artificial authority. It’s there to help you recognize the unique value in what you already know.
Visibility Is Not the Same as Becoming an Online Content Creator
When people hear the word visibility, they often think it means posting constantly, hacking social media algorithms, or turning their entire life into content. Sure, it can mean that, but broadly, you just need to make it reasonably easy for people to work out who you are, what you know and what you care about.
That might involve posting online. It might also mean speaking up in the meeting, writing the article, going on the podcast, contributing to the industry conversation or finally putting your name on the work you’ve been doing for years.
Doing Good Work and Hoping Someone Notices Is Not a Visibility Strategy
At work, professional visibility might mean putting your hand up for an assignment, contributing thoughtfully to team conversations, or building relationships beyond your immediate circle. It means sharing a piece of work you’re proud of, claiming your contribution instead of hoping someone notices it, and making sure the people who can champion your professional growth in other rooms know what you’ve accomplished.
And if you’re a founder, visibility matters differently. In many small businesses, you’re closely connected to the brand. People aren’t only assessing what you sell. They’re assessing the person behind it too. Your perspective matters. Because if people don’t know who you are, what you do, or why it matters to you, how can you expect them to choose you?
You Don’t Have to Be Perfectly Ready to Be Visible
I still get nervous writing about marketing, for example, even though it’s a significant part of my work. Marketing is changing so quickly, especially with AI in the mix. There’s always a chance something will have shifted by the time a piece is published, but that’s simply the reality of working in marketing right now. Waiting until I have a perfectly current, perfectly polished point of view would mean never prioritizing my own visibility at all.
And when the fear of too many people seeing your work kicks in, remember: the algorithm is probably not on your side. Far fewer people will see it than your nervous system is currently imagining. Trust me.
And if something does travel further—if it connects, gets shared, or even goes a little bit viral—that means your message resonated with people, and that’s a good thing.
True visibility asks you to stop assuming your experience has no value simply because it belongs to you. Yes, showing up can feel deeply uncomfortable, especially at the beginning. It can feel audacious, and not necessarily in a good way.
But feeling uncomfortable doesn’t automatically mean you shouldn’t do it. Sometimes that’s simply what being seen feels like before you’re used to it.
So try this reframe: I’m not being cringey. I’m being audacious, in the very best sense of the word.
