How I Rebuilt My Confidence

Confidence is one of those things you think you’ve got in the bag—until life decides to yeet that bag across the room.

After a major life shift (read: From the Philippines to Aotearoa), the confident, put-together version of me seemed to vanish overnight. In her place? Someone who second-guessed everything—from her choices to her voice—and felt like she was fumbling through a life that didn’t quite fit yet.

There was no magical transformation or cinematic comeback. Just a slow, sometimes clumsy process of learning, unlearning, and showing up anyway.

Here’s what helped me find my footing again:

1. Mourning the Old Me

Back in the Philippines, I was that girl. Confident. Articulate. The one who knew what she was doing. But then I moved to New Zealand, and suddenly I was like, “Why is everyone speaking so fast and saying yeah nah?”

I overthought every sentence and winced at my own pronunciation. I smiled and nodded through conversations I absolutely did not understand. (Still do, sometimes. Don’t tell.)

I shrank. I tried to blend in. I got quieter. That was the hardest part—watching the bold version of me take a back seat.

But slowly, I started to remember: my accent tells a story. I don’t need to blend in to belong. I’ve got two homes, two cultures, and a spicy vocabulary that includes both yeah nah and ay nako!

2. Starting Small (No, Smaller)

I wasn’t about to climb Mount Confidence in a day—I could barely climb out of bed some mornings. So I started with the tiniest wins. I picked one local café and made it my place. I walked the same quiet street until it stopped feeling like someone else’s neighborhood. I figured out which supermarket aisle had the fragrant jasmine rice and which checkout lady wouldn’t judge my uncomfortable silence.

I tried to learn the lay of the land, one mundane errand at a time. Confidence, it turns out, isn’t some magical switch you flip. It’s a bunch of small wins wearing a trench coat pretending to be one big, competent adult. So I kept going. Step by tiny, reluctant step.

3. Celebrating Petty Little Victories

Did I finally unmute myself and speak in that Teams meeting? Gold star.

Told a joke in the break room and didn’t instantly regret it? Queen energy.

Corrected someone when they mispronounced my name instead of awkwardly laughing it off? Absolutely iconic.

Made it through Friday drinks without hiding in the corner? Socially legendary.

These things might sound small to someone else, but for me, they were huge. Each one chipped away at the belief that I had to play small to be accepted.

So I started throwing my own version of a petty victory parade. Every time I did something remotely brave or mildly impressive, I reported it like breaking news—told my husband, messaged my mom and sister. “Made a new friend!” “Had drinks with actual people!” Small steps, big headlines. Because every inch of progress? Deserves a little confetti and a proud broadcast.

4. Redefining Confidence (Spoiler: It’s Not Loud)

I used to think confidence was loud—charismatic, decisive, unshakeable. The person who always knew what to say, who took up space effortlessly, who never doubted a thing. Basically, the opposite of what I had become.

But over time, I realized: real confidence is quieter. It’s showing up even when your voice shakes. It’s sitting with discomfort and not letting it define you. It’s asking questions when you don’t know, and not feeling shame for not knowing.

Confidence is walking into a room and not making yourself smaller to fit in. It’s wearing your quirks, your accent, your awkward silences like they’re all part of the look. (Because they are.)

Turns out, I didn’t need to get louder—I just needed to get more honest.

Still Figuring It Out, But Walking Taller

No, I still don’t have it all together. I still second-guess things. Still rehearse what I’m going to say before I walk into a room. But here’s the thing: I’m less apologetic, no longer trying so hard to fit into a version of myself that doesn’t exist here.

I’m more grounded now. A little rougher around the edges, maybe—but also more real. Scrappier. Wiser. Still awkward at parties, but hey, at least I show up. And weirdly enough, I actually like this version of me. She’s earned her place.

So if you’re in the middle of a confidence crumble—feeling like you’ve somehow misplaced your spark—this is your reminder: the you that’s emerging? She’s got grit. She’s growing. And she’s got a wicked sense of humor that’ll carry her through the messy middle.

You’re not broken. You’re just in beta. And this next update? It's looking pretty damn promising.