There's Room for You Here

What changes when women stop seeing each other as competition?

There are women we remember for the rest of our lives. Not because they changed the world. Because, for a moment, they changed ours.

The colleague who quietly made sure we received credit for an idea. The stranger who smiled when our toddler dissolved into tears in the supermarket. The woman who noticed we were standing alone and simply said, “Come and join us.”

She probably forgot that moment by the following week. But we didn’t. Perhaps that’s because, beneath all our different lives, careers, personalities and opinions, many of us are asking the same quiet question: Do I belong here?

Psychologists have long understood that human beings naturally compare themselves with the people around them. It’s one of the ways we work out where we fit. The comparison itself isn’t unusual. What matters is the story we tell ourselves afterwards.

Sometimes another woman’s success inspires us, but sometimes it stirs something less comfortable.

A promotion.

A thriving business.

A confident voice in a meeting.

A marathon medal.

A child who seems to be flourishing.

It’s easy to assume we’re comparing ourselves with her. Perhaps we’re not. Perhaps we’re comparing ourselves with the person we imagined we’d be by now. Those moments don’t make us small. They make us human.

What if the problem isn’t women?

What if the problem is the environment we’ve learned to survive in? For much of history, women weren’t imagining scarcity. It was real. Fewer leadership positions. Lower pay. Less influence. Limited opportunities.

When there appeared to be only one seat at the table, protecting it became understandable. Psychologists describe this as scarcity thinking. When opportunities appear limited, our brains naturally become more protective of what we have. It’s a human response, not a personal failing.

The challenge is that environments can change faster than beliefs. Sometimes that old story still whispers, “If she succeeds… perhaps there’s less room for me.”

But what if another woman’s success isn’t evidence that there’s less available ... but proof that more is possible? Here in New Zealand we even have a name for our discomfort with success. Tall Poppy Syndrome.

It’s so familiar that we often miss the small ways it appears. The congratulations left unsaid. The achievement explained away as luck. The compliment followed by a quiet “ ... but.”

Research suggests Tall Poppy Syndrome continues to influence many New Zealand workplaces and can discourage people from stepping forward or celebrating success openly. Perhaps the opposite of Tall Poppy Syndrome isn’t admiration. Perhaps it’s generosity.

Belonging doesn’t require friendship

We won’t become close friends with every woman we meet. We won’t admire every personality, and we won’t always agree. Nor should we.

Healthy communities have always made room for different opinions, different strengths and different ways of seeing the world. Belonging isn’t about including everyone in everything. It’s about dignity. It’s making sure another person isn’t made to feel smaller simply because she’s new, ambitious, successful, quiet, uncertain or still finding her place.

Think about the school gate. For some mothers, it’s where lifelong friendships begin. For others, it’s the loneliest ten minutes of the day.

The mum who arrives just as the bell rings, who checks her phone, and smiles politely before leaving again. Perhaps she’s shy, or perhaps she’s convinced everyone else already belongs.

Most mothers carry invisible questions. Am I doing this right? Am I enough? Can everyone else see that I’m struggling? Many women remember exactly how those years felt - because they were quietly trying to find their place, trying to fit in.

The same thing happens at work. A new employee joins the team. A woman returns after maternity leave. A woman is interrupted halfway through an idea. Another hesitates before applying for a promotion.

Sometimes culture changes because of policy. More often it changes because an ordinary woman chooses to do one ordinary thing differently:

“I think that was Emma’s idea.”

“Would you like to join us for lunch?”

“You should apply.”

“I’ll introduce you.”

Small sentences. Big consequences.

The women we never forget

Researchers studying belonging have found that feeling seen and included can have a profound effect on confidence, wellbeing and resilience. We don’t need to know the science to recognise the feeling. Most of us have lived it.

The manager who believed in us before we believed in ourselves.

The coach who kept us in the team.

The neighbour who checked in after everyone else had gone back to their own lives.

The woman who simply noticed.

The uncomfortable truth is that we’ve all been both women.

The woman who longed to be included.

And, probably without meaning to, the woman who overlooked someone else. Not because we were cruel. But because we were busy. Distracted. Human.

There’s grace in admitting that. Awareness doesn’t ask us to be perfect. It simply asks us to notice.

Kindness has backbone

Kindness isn’t always soft.

Sometimes kindness gives credit where it’s due. It recommends another woman’s business. It asks the quieter voice what she thinks. It refuses to laugh at the joke that diminishes someone else. It celebrates another woman’s success without immediately comparing it to our own.

Sometimes kindness is simply saying, “Pull up a chair.” Because everyone deserves to be treated with dignity.

Perhaps the greatest gift one woman can give another isn’t advice.

It’s helping her feel she belongs. Making room at the table. Giving credit where it's due. Sometimes it’s choosing curiosity instead of judgement. Or sometimes it’s simply saying,

“I’m glad you’re here.”

We rarely remember every conversation we’ve had. But we remember the people who changed the way we felt about ourselves. Perhaps that’s why the smallest acts of kindness are so often the ones that stay with us. They quietly say,

"I see you".