25/09/2026
What If the Thing You Hid Is Your Gift?
What If the Thing You Hid Is Your Gift?
From Where I Sit
I've been thinking about the things we're naturally good at.
Not the things on our résumés.
Not degrees, certifications or the skills somebody taught us at work.
I'm talking about the things that seem to have always been there.
Empathy.
Kindness.
Humor.
Compassion.
The ability to make people feel safe.
The person who can walk into chaos and somehow bring the temperature in the room down ten degrees.
The one who organizes everything.
The one who knows when to stop talking and just sit beside you.
The one who makes everyone laugh at exactly the moment they need it.
Are those skills?
I think they are.
Maybe they're even gifts.
And, yes, I know. We're getting dangerously close to woo-woo territory. You all know I am too sarcastic to stay there for too long.
But I've been thinking about it.
I was teased a lot as a kid, and I learned pretty quickly that being different could get you noticed in ways you didn't necessarily want.
So what do we do?
We adjust.
We hide things.
We make ourselves a little smaller.
We learn what gets approval and what gets an eye roll.
And sometimes we carry that into adulthood without realizing it.
Even writing that I believe I have a strong sense of empathy and connection with people during difficult times makes part of me want to immediately qualify it.
Who does she think she is?
That little voice is still in there.
But another voice has gotten louder.
What if acknowledging something you're good at isn't bragging?
What if it's simply knowing what you bring to the table?
I've spent years caregiving, working with families through insurance conversations, sitting with people during difficult moments and, more recently, thinking seriously about volunteering with hospice.
Somewhere along the way I realized:
I am comfortable having conversations that make a lot of people uncomfortable.
That's a skill.
It took me a while to say that.
And it made me wonder how many other people are walking around with something incredibly valuable inside them that they've dismissed because nobody ever gave that particular ability a title.
Maybe you're the caregiver.
Maybe you're the comic relief.
Maybe you're the guard.
Maybe you're the person everyone calls when something breaks because you can fix practically anything.
Maybe you remember birthdays.
Maybe you listen without immediately trying to solve the problem.
Maybe you're the person who notices when somebody sitting at the edge of the room hasn't been included and you pull out a chair.
These things matter.
People need people like you.
And the beautiful part is that we don't all need to bring the same thing.
Actually, we can't.
"We can't all be good at everything" is one of my favorite things to say when I make a mistake.
Usually I'm joking.
But really—we can't.
Thank goodness.
If everyone were a public speaker, who would listen?
If everyone wanted to lead, who would notice the details?
If everyone were the caregiver, who would make the caregiver laugh?
If everyone were the guard, who would let the guard put down his shield for a minute?
We need each other precisely because we are different.
And I think part of getting older—and hopefully a little wiser—is becoming more comfortable with that.
Knowing what you bring to the table.
Knowing what you don't.
Knowing your values.
Knowing your flaws.
And realizing that your authentic self is probably far more useful to the world than whatever version of yourself you created because you thought other people would like it better.
Not everyone will be your person.
That's okay too.
Some people become family. Some are lifelong friends.
Some are friends for a season. Some eventually move into what I call the "associate category"—people you genuinely like and are happy to see at the grocery store, a community event or wherever your paths cross, but they're not necessarily coming over in their pajamas.
They have their tribe.
You have yours.
We can't all be each other's people.
But I think something wonderful happens when you stop trying to fit at every table and start understanding what you bring to the one where you belong.
Maybe the thing you spent years toning down is exactly what somebody else needs.
Maybe your sensitivity isn't "too much."
Maybe your humor isn't frivolous.
Maybe your quietness isn't weakness.
Maybe your ability to sit with someone in the hardest moment of their life isn't strange.
Maybe it's a gift.
And maybe at some point we have to stop apologizing long enough to use the gifts we've been given.
I'm working on that.
At least, that's how it looks from where I sit.
