You said the thing.
The idea you'd been sitting on for three meetings. The one you knew was good. The one that could actually move something forward.
You said it clearly. Confidently. Without apologizing first or cushioning it with "I might be wrong, but..."
And it landed. People nodded. Someone wrote it down. The conversation shifted because of what you contributed.
So why are you in your car two hours later replaying every word?
Did I sound confident enough? Was any of that clunky? What did I forget to mention? What else should I have said? Should I send a follow-up email to clarify?
Here's what just happened: You did your job well, and now you're auditing yourself for the crime of being competent without permission.
The impossible game taught you this. Be confident, but not too confident. Speak up, but not too much. Have ideas, but deliver them gently so no one feels threatened by your capability.
The rules are designed so you can't win. Direct is "aggressive." Soft is "not leadership material." There's a razor-thin line of "acceptable," and it moves every time you get close.
Meanwhile, the guy who interrupted you twice and took credit for half your point? He's not replaying anything. He's already thinking about lunch.
You don't owe anyone a softer version of your competence.
Your idea was good. Your delivery was fine. The only thing "too aggressive" in that room was your own expectation that you should shrink.
She didn't get a seat at the table by apologizing for her ideas. She got there by having them — and saying them like they mattered.
Because they do.
Permission to stop replaying. Permission to take up space in rooms you've earned.
Boardroom Badass — your accomplice in owning your worth.