Your Magic

Your magic isn’t something you can measure. It’s not something you can weigh, quantify, or chart out. You don’t get to look at it from the outside like some mystical artifact glowing on a pedestal. It’s more like a little electric current humming away under your skin. You’re so used to it, you don’t even notice it most of the time. But it’s there. And it’s doing the work, even when you don’t feel like you’re bringing your best.

Maybe you’ve been running on three cups of coffee and a prayer. Maybe your inbox looks like an avalanche and your to-do list has started breeding. Maybe you’re convinced that at any moment, someone’s going to walk in and point at you and say, “That one. That’s the fraud.”

You know the feeling. You’re holding it together with duct tape and stubbornness, running on muscle memory, and hoping no one notices that you don’t have it all figured out. You sit there in meetings, nodding thoughtfully while your brain’s playing a slideshow of imposter syndrome greatest hits. You’re positive that everyone else has a plan. Everyone else knows what they’re doing. And you? You’re just one wrong move away from the whole house of cards collapsing.

But here’s the thing—your magic is still working. Your presence, your experience, your way of doing things—that’s the magic. It’s not the color-coded spreadsheets or the meticulously crafted pitches or the endless hours of tweaking that one important thing that’s been haunting your dreams. Those things help, sure. They’re part of the craft. But they’re not the spark. They’re not the reason people keep coming back to work with you.

People trust you because they know you. Because your presence makes things better. Because when you walk into a room, things just click a little more into place. They might not be able to tell you why. You might not be able to tell yourself why. But it happens. It’s part of you. You make the mess manageable. You make the collaboration feel like it’s got a soul. You make the client feel seen and heard. You don’t just show up—you make a difference.

You’re sitting there second-guessing every move, but the people around you? They’re not seeing the tangled ball of thoughts in your head. They’re seeing that it gets done. They’re seeing that your effort lands, that your instincts guide the way even when you’re second-guessing them. They’re seeing that when things go sideways—and they always do—you don’t run. You stay. You figure it out. You make it work. You make them feel like it’s going to be okay. That’s your magic. It’s messy and flawed and never, ever perfect. But it’s there. And it’s enough.

You’re not a machine. You’re a person who cares too much and tries too hard and gets knocked around by doubt like the rest of us. But none of that takes away from your magic. Your doubt is part of what makes you good at what you do, because you never get lazy. You never assume it’ll be fine without effort. You care too much to coast. And that? That’s not a flaw. That’s your edge.

So, when the cracks show, when your brain is screaming about how everyone else could probably do it better or faster or cleaner, remember that they chose you for a reason. You’re not there because you tricked anyone into believing you’re something you’re not. You’re there because your way of doing things makes people feel like they’re in good hands. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to be spectacular. It just has to be you.

And yeah, maybe that ending doesn’t feel like a triumphant fanfare. Maybe it’s just a small breath of relief or a quiet little realization that you’re doing okay. That’s fine. You don’t need to be larger than life to matter. Just keep doing your thing. Let your magic hum under your skin. And when the doubt creeps in, just remember: you’re enough.