A Feeling I Didn’t Need to Fix — Just Understand

Last Monday I went to a local women in business event thinking it would be a great chance to meet and mingle with other female leaders in the community. I was familiar with the location, I had read about the group online before deciding to attend, and I even knew who a few of the panel members were.

What I expected to feel was ease. Familiarity. That quiet sense of belonging that comes from being in a room that, on paper, looks like it was built for you.

That feeling never came.

Instead, I found myself aware of my body in ways I hadn’t anticipated — shoulders tense, attention split, listening harder than I should have needed to. Not because anything was wrong, but because everything felt just slightly off. A photo shared online after the event later caught me looking bored, annoyed, and checked out, which forced me to pause and reflect on why I had felt so out of place.

When the Room Is Louder Than You Expect

Part of it was logistical. Another large group was gathered in the same space, holding their own meeting and meal. Conversations overlapped. Plates clinked. Voices competed. There were moments of unexpected noise that pulled focus away from the panel itself.

For someone sensitive to sound, the environment made it difficult to settle in. I noticed myself straining to hear, working harder to track the discussion, waiting for my nervous system to catch up to the room. At one point, I even covered one ear without thinking, trying to filter out competing conversations.

Before the panelists had finished their introductions, I realized I was already thinking about how quickly I could leave.

Nothing about this was anyone’s fault. It was simply the reality of the space. And still, the discomfort lingered — distracting me from being able to fully receive what was being shared.

Familiar People, Unfamiliar Feeling

Most of the attendees seemed to already know one another. Conversations picked up easily. Groups formed naturally. I felt like I’d walked into a story already a few chapters in.

There was no exclusion — just history I wasn’t part of.

I scanned the room more than once, wondering if this was simply the awkwardness of being new. I reminded myself that discomfort doesn’t always mean misalignment.

After all, I’ve built my entire career being the new person in the room. I’ve prided myself on my ability to network with strangers and move confidently in unfamiliar spaces.

And yet, in this moment, that confidence felt muted — and I couldn’t quite explain why.

When Information Isn’t the Issue

At one point, someone receiving a donation from the group spoke at length about her organization. She was clearly passionate, and it was evident that many in the room were already familiar with the work. Attention drifted. Energy dipped. I caught myself checking out — and then immediately questioning that reaction.

Why was this landing so flat for me?

The content wasn’t bad. The speaker wasn’t wrong. Still, I felt myself interpreting much of the event through a lens of pressure — to donate, to purchase, to visibly support — and my body responded with resistance.

What this moment highlighted wasn’t a flaw in the event, but something internal: I was hyper-aware of pacing, engagement, and audience in a way that made me feel out of sync with the room.

At one point I thought, This isn’t how I would have run this.

And then I caught myself.

The entire reason I’d come was to be somewhere I wasn’t in charge — and yet I was struggling to let go of that orientation.

A Bright Spot That Mattered

Not everything felt disconnected.

Another attendee, also there on her own, struck up a conversation with me. It was easy. Grounded. Mutual. We exchanged information, talked shop, and — briefly — the room softened.

One genuine connection was something I was grateful to take with me.

One of the panelists stood out as well. She carried herself with a quiet confidence that didn’t ask for permission or attention. She wasn’t performing or proving — she simply knew who she was. I logged that presence as something I want to embody as I continue launching my own company.

Turning the Lens Inward

As the event went on, the questions that surfaced had less to do with the room — and more to do with me.

Why did I feel like my business didn’t belong there?

Why did I catch myself thinking I would’ve felt more comfortable in a room full of men?

Why did a women-focused business space feel harder to navigate than environments that once demanded I prove myself?

Part of the answer lives in my history.

I developed my career in male-dominated spaces and higher education institutions — fast-paced, urban environments where clarity, confidence, and decisiveness were rewarded. I learned how to take up space there. How to speak up. How to belong.

My life now looks different. I live and work in a more rural setting. The pace is slower. The politics and priorities are different. In a small town, it’s natural that many people already know one another.

I found myself facing a quiet paradox:

Do I shift who I am to better meet the rooms I’m entering — or do I continue exploring which rooms are truly meant for me?

Both options require self-reflection. Neither is inherently right or wrong.

Noticing What Wasn’t Being Mirrored Back

What struck me most was the sense that I might be the only one registering the dissonance I felt. The discomfort felt personal, not shared.

That didn’t make it wrong.

It made it informative.

I didn’t feel unsafe. I didn’t feel excluded. I felt… unmirrored.

And maybe that’s what happens when we’re in transition — when who we’ve been and who we’re becoming haven’t quite reconciled yet.

“Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.” – Carl Jung

Understanding Without Fixing

I don’t share this to critique a group, a place, or an event. Nothing about the people or the space was wrong. And nothing about my reaction was either.

I may attend another event hosted by that group someday — or I may not. For now, I’m focused on understanding what this discomfort was pointing me toward, and how I want to navigate moments like this moving forward.

"Fatigue, discomfort, and discouragement are merely symptoms of effort." - Morgan Freeman

This wasn’t a feeling I needed to fix.

It was one I needed to understand.

Sometimes discomfort isn’t fear.

Sometimes it isn’t misalignment.

Sometimes it’s simply information — pointing us toward questions worth asking.

Belonging isn’t always about forcing ourselves to fit.

And walking away doesn’t mean retreating to what’s comfortable.

Sometimes it’s just recognizing a square peg in a round hole — and giving ourselves permission to keep looking.

And sometimes, noticing that difference is the real work.

If this resonated, I’d love to know — have you ever found yourself in a room that made sense on paper but not in practice? What did that discomfort teach you? If you’re open to it, share your experience or reach out. Sometimes naming it out loud is the first step toward understanding it.