The Confidence Tax

I bet no one told you, but there's a tax you pay just to be heard.

It's not an intelligence or competence tax. It's a confidence tax. And unlike income tax, you pay it upfront, before anyone has seen you.

I learned it the hard way. Needed quite a few hits, because apparently my brain doesn’t get convinced easily.

Here's what actually happens in a room full of people. Someone speaks first. Confidently. Maybe even wrongly — but confidently. The room responds. The conversation builds around them.

Meanwhile, I'm still formulating the perfect thing to say.

By the time I had the perfect response crafted, the room has moved. The moment is gone. And now I'm trying to insert it somehow in the conversation as it is really smart.

If this sounds familiar, welcome to the “oscillating club”. More of us there than we think, but you wouldn't have noticed us as we are formulating the perfect response in the corner, in fact forgetting the ones like us as well.

I'm not an introvert. I'm also not an extrovert. I am, depending on the day, the weather, the moon, and frankly who's in the room — both. Simultaneously. Contradictorily.

On extrovert days- I walk in, I talk, I joke, I engage. People respond. Conversations happen. I leave feeling like a functional human being.

On introvert days- Same brain. Same thoughts. Same capability. Just quieter. Watching. Processing. Taking everything in.

The difference in how the world responds on those two days is… quite something.

When you're visibly confident — smiling, speaking, seeming easy — people include you automatically. You don't have to earn the seat. You just take it.

When you're not in that mode? Even if nothing about your actual intelligence has changed, people read you as cold. Aloof. And in the less charitable words — a bit of a bitch.

Not because I am one. But because I’m not performing warmth loudly enough for strangers to feel comfortable.

I've realised something uncomfortable over the years. The people who eventually connect with me — who actually seek me out, who want to hear what I think — they figured it out over time. After a conversation. After observing. After giving it more than thirty seconds.

The world, unfortunately, mostly gives you thirty seconds.

So here's the thing nobody wants to say out loud: how you look matters. How you carry yourself matters. Whether you seem approachable in the first thirty seconds — matters. Not because people are shallow, but because they're human. They make fast assessments. And if you didn't vibe — as the GenZ would say — you don't get a second chance.

This doesn't mean become someone else. I've tried performing confidence I don't feel. It's exhausting and frankly doesn’t work.

But it does mean this: if you have something to say, say it earlier. Imperfectly. Before the room moves on.

Because the world is not going to sit quietly and discover you.

Waiting doesn't really work. Trust me. I waited.

Still here. Still figuring out the “thirty second problem”. But no longer pretending it doesn't exist.

Disclaimer: I am a very nice person when I want to be