Publishing my writing used to feel like trying to write a constitution.
Every word double-checked.
Every angle considered.
Every possible misinterpretation weighed like it might blow up the internet.
I used to think this was responsibility.
Now I see it was fear mixed with excellence and a good dose of “mutt syndrome”. A very Brazilian cocktail.
I grew up with the Brazilian instinct to read the room.
To feel the undercurrents.
To adapt fast and stay humble.
To speak with heart and humor, even in complexity.
Then I moved north.
And I noticed something different, a deeper emphasis on permission.
Certifications. White papers. A kind of institutional approval before your voice could really count.
It wasn’t that one place had more knowledge.
It was that in some rooms, people seemed more certain they were allowed to speak.
What I didn’t expect was how that contrast would live in me.
My instinct to feel deeply and communicate with care collided with this pressure to package everything perfectly.
And suddenly, sharing what I knew started to feel like walking through customs, checking if I had the right stamps. The right tone. The right to say anything at all.
Better to wait until it’s perfect.
Better to run it by a few more smart friends.
Better to keep it in the notes app, forever marked almost ready.
But here’s where I am now.
I’m tired of hiding my thinking just because I can also see what’s missing.
I’m done trying to prove my worth with every post.
I’m practicing being discerning instead.
Discerning (adjective):
Having or showing good judgment, especially in matters of perception, insight, or taste.Root: From Latin discernere
dis- (“apart”) + cernere (“to separate, to sift, to distinguish”)
Discernere meant “to separate by sifting,” as in carefully sorting grains or ideas, keeping what matters, leaving the rest.
That means speaking when something’s real for me, not when it’s complete.
It means sharing thoughts that come from lived experience, not just polished strategy decks.
It means letting people see the mind in motion, not just the final product.
I’m not trying to be the loudest voice in the room.
I just want to stop being the one with something to say who keeps quiet.
Over the past few years, LinkedIn has become a kind of safe space for me.
It gave me a place to practice.
To find my voice.
To say things before I was sure of them and still be received.
It’s from here that I started getting invited to speak, in Switzerland, in Stockholm, in Lisbon, and more.
Not because I had everything figured out, but because I finally stopped waiting for that moment.
I started giving myself the option to discern instead of overthink.
To notice when something felt good enough.
To trust that if a thought kept circling in my chest and mind, maybe it wasn’t meant to stay locked in.
Some things I’ve shared helped others.
Some helped future-me.
Because getting it out of my head and into the world is often the clarity I was waiting for in the first place.
So yes, the fear still shows up.
Will they get it? Will it land? Did I forget something?
Probably. And honestly, that’s part of the beauty of it.
Becoming a discerning communicator isn’t about being flawless.
It’s about respecting your voice enough to let it be heard, even before it’s fully polished.
If you’re sitting on something right now, wondering if it’s ready:
Maybe it is.
Or maybe it just needs to breathe in public for a while.
And if, like me, Brazilian, or bicultural, multilingual, multi-layered, remember:
Your way of seeing is not too much.
It’s the perspective someone out there is waiting for.
Vai com tudo.
Literally: “Go with everything.”
Meaning: Give it your all. Go all in. Bring your full energy, courage, and heart into what you're doing. Often used as encouragement before taking a bold step, facing a challenge, or pursuing a dream.
You don’t need permission to speak. You just need to start.
See you out there.
Reflection Questions:
When I speak or post, am I trying to connect or to control how I’m perceived?
How do I know when something is “good enough” to share, and what does my body tell me in those moments?
What lived experience, stories, thoughts, or ideas might future-me thank me for putting into the world today?