I Did That.

Honestly,

I have sat through more interviews, performance conversations and important meetings than I could possibly count.

And I can't tell you how many times I have undervalued my own contribution while sitting in them.

Not because I didn't contribute.

Because talking about what I'm good at makes me incredibly uncomfortable.

I'm not sure why.

Maybe it's because I'm a woman.

Maybe it's because I'm from the Midwest.

Maybe it's because I grew up smack in the middle of five kids, where there wasn't exactly a lot of opportunity to hold a press conference every time you did something impressive.

Maybe it's all three.

I don't know.

What I do know is that actually saying, out loud, “I did this, and I did it really well” has never been one of my greatest strengths.

Ask me how I accomplished something difficult and historically, my answer has sounded something like this:

“I don't know. I just worked as hard as I could, as fast as I could, and then I came back the next day and did it again.”

And here's the frustrating part.

That's true.

I did work hard.

I did keep showing up.

I did figure things out as I went.

But that answer leaves out almost everything that actually matters.

It doesn't tell you what I saw that needed to change.

It doesn't tell you what I figured out.

It doesn't tell you about the relationships I built.

The problems I solved.

The people I influenced.

The risks I spotted.

The things I created.

The decisions I made.

The times I kept going when something wasn't working.

It doesn't tell you about my effort, my judgment or my passion.

It just says:

I worked hard.

And while there's nothing wrong with working hard, that's not the whole story.

For a long time, I would much rather have had somebody else tell you I was good at something than tell you myself.

Give me a reference.

Ask my manager.

Talk to somebody I've worked with.

Read my performance reviews.

They'll tell you.

Please don't make me tell you.

Except there's a problem with that strategy.

Sometimes you have to tell your own story.

So one of my goals for 2026 has been very simple:

Get better at articulating my accomplishments.

Not exaggerating them.

Not taking credit for things I didn't do.

Not becoming the person who turns every team accomplishment into a heroic tale starring herself.

Just learning to accurately say:

This is what I did. This is why it mattered. And I'm proud of it.

It turns out that's a skill.

And skills can be practiced.

So I built myself a ridiculously simple system.

I have a OneNote document.

Nothing fancy.

At the beginning of the year, I put my annual goals and development goals in it and broke them down by quarter.

Then, as things happen, I throw them in there.

Sometimes it's a sentence.

Sometimes it's a date and a few words.

Sometimes it's a quick copy-and-paste from an email or a project.

That's it.

I am not creating a museum exhibit dedicated to my professional greatness.

I'm keeping receipts.

At the end of each quarter, I go through everything I've collected and turn it into an actual list of accomplishments.

And then—bless my manager's heart—she gets the privilege of spending 30 minutes on the phone with me while I tell her what I accomplished that quarter.

Lucky woman.

But here's the interesting part.

I originally thought the value was making sure she knew what I was doing.

And sure, that's useful.

Managers are busy. They don't see every conversation, project, decision or problem you solve.

But I've realized something.

Those meetings aren't primarily for her.

They're for me.

I'm practicing telling my own story.

I'm practicing saying:

Here's what the goal was.

Here's what I did.

Here's what changed.

Here's where I struggled.

Here's what I learned.

Here's what I'm proud of.

I'm getting comfortable saying the words before I'm sitting across from an interviewer trying desperately to remember everything I've accomplished over the last five years.

And I'm creating something else in the process.

Evidence.

Because when the end of the year comes and it's time to write my performance review, I won't be staring at a blinking cursor trying to reconstruct twelve months of my life from memory.

I'll already have it.

Quarter by quarter.

Project by project.

Accomplishment by accomplishment.

The proof will be sitting there waiting for me.

And maybe—just maybe—I won't dread writing the thing.

Because I won't have to suddenly figure out how to explain how awesome I am.

I'll have spent the entire year practicing.

There is a difference between bragging and accurately telling your story.

I'm still learning that.

Maybe you are too.

So keep the receipts.

Write down the win.

Save the email.

Record the impact.

And every once in a while, practice saying it out loud:

I did that.

You don't have to wait for somebody else to say it first.