The only one? You’re already worth it.

Growing up, I often found myself “the only one.” The only girl in science class who could make a paper airplane that actually flew. The only Black student in honors or AP classes in my high school. The only one reading a book instead of watching music videos on the internet during library time. 

At some point, I began to interpret my being the only one as my needing to be the best. 

Being the only girl whose paper airplane could fly meant that I had to beat the boys, my stomach in knots with anxiety as my creation sailed down the hall. 

Being the only Black student in advanced level classes meant making 104 on a quiz, not just 100. 

Being the only person reading in the library meant becoming the captain of the Battle of the Books team. 

As I got older, this morphed into something more insidious, from needing to be the best to proving that I was worth being there at all. 

So when I was the only woman and Black person in the Graduate Investment Fund in my class in business school, it meant becoming a Portfolio Manager whose sector (consumer/retail) would surely outperform the others. 

When I was the only woman and Black person in a room during a panel in an industry conference, it meant always asking an insightful, if unnecessary, question. 

When I was the only woman and Black person in the room during a networking event, it meant being the most entertaining person in earshot. 

I had to prove that I was smart enough, clever enough, charming enough to exist in that space because I was taking up a seat someone else could be filling. I should be grateful, I thought. I need to work for this. I need to earn this. 

But earn what, really? 

Recently, something changed in me. 

I don’t know if it was the result of almost two years of pandemic isolation, or becoming a mother, or, as my late grandfather would say, “I done got old,” but a few months ago, a question came to my mind: “What if I lived as if I didn’t care what people thought of me?”

I breathed into that question and replayed all of the above scenarios. 

I could have had fun with that paper airplane. I could have fallen in love with Shakespeare. I could have actually enjoyed the books I was reading. I could have learned even more about portfolio management. I could have absorbed wisdom from others’ experiences. I could have gotten really drunk and laughed at some pretty uninteresting people. 

In other words, I could have been myself.

I could have simply relished in existing instead of scratching to prove to myself and others that I deserved to be there. 

I was looking for the approval of others, but no one in those rooms determined my fate. No one determined my worth. None of them were required for my well-being. 

This Women’s History Month, I invite everyone who has felt like the only one—especially women—into that very question: “What if I lived as if I didn’t care what people thought of me? 

The freedom available to you might blow your mind. And the resulting ease with which you build your firm and fund will be a welcomed breath of fresh air to everyone, but mostly yourself.