
You know that thing that happens when a friend tells you they've just seen the best movie ever made or read the best book of their life? You go see that movie or read that book, and even though it's genuinely great, you walk away a little disappointed because it couldn't possibly match the expectations they set for you.
Hold onto that feeling. We're coming back to it.
Nobody expected much of kids from "the valley" in small-town Alaska, and at the time I had no idea that was worth anything. Back then it felt like a limitation, like I was behind everyone who had grown up with connections, prestigious schools, and polished role models.
So later, when I was working for promotions in rooms where I didn't feel I belonged (standard imposter syndrome), I noticed something I hadn't expected. It took me a while to understand it. Once I did, it became important enough that it's now my answer to a question I recently heard put to a leader I admire.
I recently saw a clip of Emily Cohen, the CEO of United Contractors, speaking at an event honoring the most influential women in San Francisco's business community. She was asked what advice she would give her 25-year-old self. Her answer was great and funny, and it got me thinking about how I would answer that same question.
If I had to give my 25-year-old self some advice, I would use that movie analogy. Because when I was 25, I was working in a fast-moving, high-stakes business where I was usually the only woman in the room. I was constantly underestimated, and I was frustrated by it. I was defensive about it. I spent most of my effort correcting people's assessment of me, trying to prove I belonged in the room.
Until one day it occurred to me: just as you never want to over-promise and under-deliver, being underestimated by everyone but yourself can be a superpower.
When you do the great thing you know you're capable of, and no one saw it coming, three things happen at once.
First, the achievement counts for more. Psychologists call this expectancy violation, outcomes that defy our predictions register more strongly in memory and meaning. The same achievement, delivered by someone expected to deliver it, is barely noticed. Delivered by someone who was underestimated, it becomes a story people tell.
Second, you get your effort back. Convincing a room that you belong is exhausting, and the hours you spend managing how you're perceived are hours you don't spend on the work itself. The moment you stop correcting the outside view, that time goes back into what you're actually building, and what you build is then what people see.
Third, the surprise is useful on its own. Because no one anticipated the result, it changes more minds than the same result would have if you'd walked in with expectations set sky-high. As Sun Tzu put it, "Appear weak when you are strong."
I wouldn't trade the pressure of walking into a room with everything to prove for the freedom of being underestimated and having a chance to over-deliver. What I once saw as a disadvantage has become something I value, and I use it constantly in business and in my personal life.
In construction technology, I see underestimation constantly. Construction is about 14% women, and closer to 4% in the trades.1 Technology's numbers are better, but not by much. Put the two together and you get a field where young women in particular walk into rooms where people have already decided what they're capable of before they've said a word.
Here's what I tell my team, many of whom are in their 20s: stop arguing with the room. Not because the underestimation isn't real, it absolutely is, but because correcting it costs you more than the underestimation does.
The best response to being underestimated isn't a better argument. It's a result no one can dispute.
If you're leading a team, this idea has a second and equally important application: let your people be underestimated, then over-deliver. Don't oversell them into rooms where they'll be measured against expectations they can't meet. Let people meet them through their work instead.
The leaders I admire most are the ones who quietly position their people to win, let the room form its own conclusions, and then let the results prove those conclusions wrong.
Stop trying to correct the room. Let them think what they think. You know what you're capable of, and that's the only assessment that counts. The freedom of being underestimated is worth more than the validation of being expected to succeed.
The valley in small-town Alaska, the imposter syndrome, the rooms where I was the youngest and the only, all of it gave me something I didn't recognize at the time: low expectations, and the room to exceed them.
What advice would you give your 25-year-old self? I can't wait to learn.