The Performance of Power and the Cost of Belonging

No one had to tell me to perform. I learned it early.

Tone mattered more than truth. Authority had to be softened again and again. Facial expressions carried weight, sometimes more than the words themselves. I learned to lower my voice, rehearse phrases, mirror the energy of the room before daring to speak my truth. And when I did all of that well, I was praised.

“You’re so polished.”
“You carry yourself with such professionalism.”

But the cost of performance is presence. The more we perfect the act, the more disconnected we become from the voice underneath it. Power becomes a costume. Leadership becomes survival.

The Training

This training began long before I had a title beside my name.

At the dinner table, the boys debated loudly and were told they were smart. The girls were reminded to wait, to listen, to keep the peace. In classrooms, a boy who blurted out a half-answer was praised for confidence. A girl who did the same was corrected: slow down, be precise, make sure you are right.

The lessons were subtle, but they stuck.

“Don’t be bossy.”
“Smile more.”
“You’re too sensitive.”