Don’t keep your wisdom to yourself

On shifting a limiting belief

Recently I wrote a LinkedIn post about the video recording I had made of myself — and about the nerves that came over me in the process. Afterwards, the question stayed with me: what makes this so daunting? Is it the visibility? Or is it actually something else — something more active: taking up space?

And if I’m honest, there’s something deeper underneath. Taking up space without any guarantee that it lands — without knowing whether it’s good enough, original enough, resonant enough — and then being judged for what you share: that’s the real risk. Not the visibility itself, but not knowing what the consequences will be.

Maybe you recognise that.

The turning point

My web designer said something that stayed with me. Not as a strategy. Not as a marketing tip. But as something that rang true.

“Don’t be selfish. Don’t keep your wisdom to yourself.”

I had to sit with that for a moment.

Because selfishness isn’t the first word I would use for my reluctance. It felt more like modesty. Like realism. So many people are already saying this. What do I add?

But there was something else in that reluctance too. A protective layer: if I keep myself small, I can’t fail. If I don’t take up the space, I never have to find out whether I deserved it.

But what if that reluctance — however understandable — is ultimately a choice for myself, at the expense of the other?

The myth of not being unique

We live in a world of information overload. And in that overload, it’s tempting to think: this has already been said. People already know this. This isn’t new. Once, you could be the best guitar player in your village. Now you can always find someone who does it better.

But in thinking that, we forget something essential.

What makes us unique is not one single skill or one original idea. It’s the combination — the specific mix of experience, perspective, character and way of being that you are. That combination exists only once. That combination is you.

The way you pass on an insight is coloured by everything you’ve been through. The conversations you’ve had. The moments when you were stuck — and found your way forward again. The words that work for you.

That combination — that is your contribution. And that combination deserves space.

The myth of reach

In an interconnected world, we quickly start thinking in terms of reach. How many people read your piece? How many followers? How much impact?

Those questions are not innocent. They measure success. And as long as success is the measure, the threshold stays high — and validation remains external.

But sometimes it’s enough to think: even if it’s just one person who gets something from it.

One person who reads something and thinks: yes, that’s exactly how I feel. Or: this shifts something for me. Or simply: I’m not the only one.

If that’s the outcome, then taking up space was worth it. Regardless of what the rest of the world thought.

An invitation

This is an invitation to look at the limiting belief — I don’t have the right to take up this much space — from a different angle.

Because maybe the risk isn’t only the risk of being judged.

Maybe there’s also a risk in the space you don’t take up: the risk that someone is waiting for exactly the words you haven’t shared yet.

Taking up space without any guarantee of success, with the possibility of judgement — that’s the real risk. But it’s also the only way something genuine can enter the world.

I know I will always be sensitive to how others see me. The thought who cares what people think — that doesn’t work for me. But the thought that what I share might be of service to just one other person makes taking up space a little easier.

What space are you not yet taking up?