I've never told anyone this story. Next week I'm saying it on a stage.

I was running up the stairs at a tube station last year.

Everyone around me was running. You don't stop to ask why. You just run.

Halfway up, my legs gave out. Not fully. But enough for me to notice. Enough to scare me.

And in that moment, I had one thought.

If my daughter was here and I needed to carry her, could I?

The answer was no. I knew it instantly. And it destroyed me.

That was the day I decided to lose weight. Not a New Year's plan. Not a diet book. A staircase and a thought I couldn't live with.

Eleven months later, I'd lost 50kg.

I've never told anyone that story. The real version. Next week I'm telling it on a stage in front of judges, strangers, and a microphone.

I entered a public speaking competition and wrote that moment as my speech. At the time, it felt brave. Now the date is in my calendar, and I'm genuinely terrified.

Not of losing. Of the part where I talk about my daughter and cry in front of everyone.

What was I thinking?

Here's what I've learned about confidence.

It doesn't come before the scary thing. It comes after. Every single time.

The first time I spoke on stage, I wasn't ready. I knew I wasn't ready. I did it anyway.

I got emotional. I didn't hold it together the way I'd planned. And when I finished, I wanted the floor to swallow me.

But people came up to me afterwards. Not to say I was polished or impressive. But to say they felt it, it sounded like the truth.

That was the moment I understood something. The thing you're most afraid to show is usually the thing that makes people lean in. Not your highlights. Not the version of you that has it together. The real version. The one that's still figuring it out.

So next week, when I'm on that stage, and I get to that moment in my speech, the one about my daughter on that staircase, and I feel my voice go, I'm not going to fight it.

Because I've learned that the people in that room don't want a performance, they want a person.

And so do you.

Ready is the story you tell yourself when the real reason is fear. Fear of being seen getting it wrong. Fear of people watching you struggle. Fear of the version of you that isn't polished yet.

But that version, the unpolished one, the one still figuring it out, that's the one people actually connect with. That's the one that changes things.

You have something you've been waiting to do. You know exactly what it is. And the reason it's still waiting isn't your schedule or your circumstances.

It's that you're scared. And that's okay. But scared and waiting feels exactly the same a year from now.

So this week, just one thing. Write down what it is. Be honest about what's actually stopping you.

Then reply and tell me. I'll tell you mine.

A few weeks ago, I shared a short book about my weight loss and health journey, and the identity shift that made it possible.

Not the routines or the rules, but the internal changes that had to happen for me to stop cycling and start moving forward. I’m mentioning it here for anyone new, or anyone who wants to understand the deeper work behind sustainable change.

I’ve been writing these pieces in the quiet, between school runs, work, and late-night thinking, but I’ve started sharing more of the journey in real time too. The reflections, the systems, the messier parts of reinvention that never make it into the newsletter.

If you want to follow along, you’ll find me here:

LinkedIn
Instagram
Website: orgesameli.com

Come say hi. It’s less about followers, more about finding the others who are doing the invisible work too.

If something in this email made you pause, think, or feel seen, send it to a friend who’s been quietly trying to make a change, too.
You never know what might land at the right moment. Link here.