In 2013 I attended my first developer conference, the Dutch PHP Conference. I had never been to any event like it and found it invigorating. I made connections with devs that I still have to this day, I went home feeling inspired and motivated to do more, do new things. And more importantly, I had now in-person seen just how few women showed up at such events. Whether that was an accurate representation of women in tech, or if it simply meant that women didn't have enough of a personal or professional budget to attend, I don't know. What I did know was I felt very strongly about increasing the visibility of and enfranchising women in tech. In the same year, a lot of developer meetup groups sprouted up in the Netherlands, including 010PHP; and soon I prepared a talk called 'Debugging for Distressed Developers' (The slides are still up on SpeakerDeck). I went to several meetups after that, and in the mean time I was also following several courses in theatre becaused I'd always been interested in that anyway and it seemed extra relevant.

Things came crashing down mid-2014, however. I had attended PHPUK London, where I truly had a great time, and connected with several speakers, talking about how I want to do what they do but was unsure what to talk about and of course the struggle with 'Impostor Syndrome'.

The term Impostor Syndrome is often used in tech to describe anxiety and insecurities when putting ourselves out there and speaking about topics; but the actual syndrome is more literal than that. It often affects highly gifted and neurodivergent people who truly have the belief that they are faking their entire professional life, and have a deep-seated fear of being found out. I don't think our insecurities generally run that deep or that way; at least for myself, I don't think I am faking it at all! Rather than thinking "I am an impostor", I realized that I am afraid of being criticized for not knowing enough about a topic, especially as someone with multiple marginalized identities (I am a woman, queer, neurodivergent, and chronically ill). I know all too well through a lifetime of experience that making myself visible and audible is to invite commentary at the least, mockery and discrimination at worst. This fear has nothing to do with a belief that I am pretending. I know I am skilled and knowledgeable. I'm just afraid I won't be able to convince others of it.

But, back to 2014 -- after the PHPUK conference I had taken a week off to recover. And I found that once I finally sat down, I couldn't get back up. That may be familiar to those of you who have gone through the same thing: burnout. Once you finally stop running, your mind and body can't gear back up, like an engine that's run at max speed until it overheated and now you can't even switch into the first gear. The truth was that I'd been running on steam for a few years already. I'd faltered, fallen down, and there was no getting back up for a while. So, my aspirations of becoming a speaker were shelved as well.

I wouldn't return to my field until 2017, after many months of rest, recovery, and then a lot - a LOT! - of therapy. But I was feeling fully recharged and ready to take on the world of tech again. I found a new job, new colleagues, new coding challenges, and started going to meetups and conferences again. Once more I felt the itch to become a speaker, seeing as how after four years there was still a dearth of women at these places, and I longed to change that.

But there would be another big bump in the road, or perhaps it was more like a landslide that came down and hampered my progress. Things did not go well at the company, and the events during and after that took up all of my available energy and had long aftereffects. But, the speaker itch still persisted, I still attended meetups, I went to a developer camp, networked. Now and then gave a presentation at a company level, such as how we could leverage OpenAPI to automate our services communicating with each other.

And then, of course, the pandemic hit. It was a difficult time for me and for many others, where we struggled with the isolation, the anxiety, the uncertainty. But by the time autumn 2022 rolled around I felt I had to get out of this rut, I had to challenge myself to pick my life back up. I'm sure a lot of you felt the same way. I decided to attend SymfonyCon Paris, which took place in Disneyland, and had been postponed several times already. It was quite scary to put myself out there, to travel, to be surrounded by so many people again for the first time in years. Even days before the journey, I really didn't want to go. But there was a part of me that said: Go. This will be good for you, I promise.

And it was! I had a great time, and with the support of my significant other, I was able to push through my own reluctance. I met some old familiar faces and many new faces. Notably, a few of the women attendees and speakers gravitated towards each other at a table, and that's where I opened up about my aspirations and received good advice in return. It was odd to think I'd been carrying this ambition to become a speaker for 9 years already; time flies when you're working hard, and when life and a pandemic happen. This time, I saw that the landscape had changed a bit -- there were more women speakers, a Code of Conduct, a CARE team, and the explicit mention of inviting speakers from marginalized groups. Even if the balance in attendees wasn't quite there yet, things were better than they used to be.

After the conference, I felt invigorated -- I had gone out of my pandemic-fueled comfort zone, challenged myself, and found that I was able to handle it. I'd reconnected with fellow devs and realized that I was able to push myself a bit.

I have a whiteboard in my hallway (well, technically, it's a glassboard, and it's orange). I wrote down, "I can do it!" to remind myself that I am able to tackle challenges if I am willing to face them. That writing is still there, by the way.

It wouldn't be until the start of 2023 when I started to truly pick myself back up. Following my GP's stern advice I started to eat better and exercise more. (It turns out that what they've been telling us our whole lives is good for us, is actually good for us. Who knew?) I felt more and more energized and confident. And I gave myself accountability by sharing my ambition with my colleagues and managers: I want to become a conference speaker, and this is how I'm going to do it.

It was a big challenge, but unexpectedly, it was muscle training that taught me I could achieve meaningful results by setting smaller goals and consistently keeping at it. Something that had eluded me in my life for a long time. But this time, like the Cylons, I had a plan. And once I had the plan, all I had to do was focus on the next step without worrying too much about the big picture, as that was too overwhelming anyway.

I knew that I wanted to talk about core skills rather than technical topics, because that's where my heart is, that's the change I want to bring to the world. I have been through a lot in life, I have learned a lot, and I don't want all that knowledge to just sit with me when I can use it to help others. I tried to prepare a talk about company culture and how to prevent burnout, but I wasn't quite there yet -- I submitted it to two conferences, and received rejections. I knew I had some more learning to do and I reflected on my own motivations. I also asked a friend for help -- Stefan Koopmanschap, who I knew from past conferences and WeCamp. I resolved to give a talk at the SymfonyCon 2023 unconference, once again pushing through my own reluctance and anxiety to take on this challenge. I was taking small but important steps towards my end goal. The unconference went really well -- I got a lot of positive feedback, and also a lot of material to work on the talk and flesh it out more.

It's now December 2023, and I'm still not quite there yet -- but that's okay. I've submitted the talk to DPC 2024, and I may not get accepted again; but even that is another step forward, another learning opportunity.

I know I'm on the right path.