They told us modesty was a virtue. Especially us women. Be soft-spoken. Be agreeable. Don’t take up too much space. Don’t say too many good things about yourself, because that’s “arrogant.” And for a long time, I believed them.
But I’m done.
As Maya Angelou said, “Modesty is a learned affectation.” And when I heard that, something in me broke free. Modesty, not humility, but modesty—that watered-down, socially taught performance—isn’t virtue. It’s fear dressed up as grace. It’s silence in the face of our own greatness.
Let’s make a clear distinction here: modesty and humility are not the same. True humility is a quiet strength. It is rooted in honesty—about what you know, what you don’t, where you shine, and where you still have room to grow. It doesn’t require shrinking. In fact, humility leaves room for everyone to be big, including yourself.
But modesty? It tells you to downplay your strengths so others aren’t uncomfortable. To pretend not to know something you do know. To smile and sit quietly while your soul is screaming for space to stretch.
I’ll be honest: unlearning modesty is not easy. These teachings were deeply ingrained in me. I still catch myself doing it—downplaying, deflecting, softening what I know to be true. It’s automatic. But now, I’m aware. And that awareness is power. It may take me a while to stop completely, but I know I will.
Recently, I spoke confidently about something I had achieved. I wasn’t bragging—I was simply speaking my truth. And someone said, “You’re not very humble.” But why should I pretend to be unsure when I am certain? Why should I dim the light of what is real? That’s not humility—that’s false modesty. And I abhor it.
I don’t admire pompous people—loudness for the sake of ego. But I have less tolerance for fake humility. Because once life knocks you down (and it will), all these little performances fall away anyway. What’s left is who you are: your honesty, your backbone, your self-awareness.
So here’s my truth: I know who I am. I know what I bring to the table. I know where I still have growing to do, and I remain teachable. I could learn from a scholar—but I could also learn from a humble merchant or a kid. Because wisdom wears many faces. But that doesn’t mean I will ever again pretend not to know my worth.
I will be humble. But I will never again be modest.
And to anyone reading this—man, woman, whoever you are—I invite you to do the same. Stop shrinking. Stop apologizing for your brilliance, your voice, your knowing. Be humble in spirit, but bold in truth. Unlearn the modesty that was taught to you, and step into who you are, fully.
We need your light—all of it.
Until next time,
Xoxo, JPP
