Have You Ever Felt Like You Didn’t Belong?

Have you ever felt like you just didn’t fit? Like you were the one puzzle piece that didn’t have a place, and you couldn’t even figure out if you were from the same box as everyone else? I have. Sometimes, I still do.

I have a speech and language difference and growing up that made life feel like one big, awkward tongue-twister. Words were a minefield, they still are sometimes. I can trip over pronunciation. Simple things sometimes throw me off—I call a “spoon” a “fork” or mix up other words that seem so obvious to everyone else. As a kid, I started second-guessing every word before I said it. And other kids noticed. They always noticed. It wasn’t just my speech that set me apart, either. I wasn’t into the same things they were. While they connected over sports or the latest TV shows, I was in my own little world. I preferred conversations with teachers, loved books, and often found solace in my imagination.

When you’re a kid, standing out in that way isn’t seen as “cool” it is just different, and different is a magnet for teasing. I became the target of quick jokes, snide whispers, loud laughs…painful bullying. It hurt. I wanted so badly to be invisible. To blend in. To be part of something—anything—that felt normal. Instead, I felt smaller and smaller with every passing day.

Meeting Mr. Shera

Then I met Mr. Shera. If you’ve ever had someone step into your life at just the right moment, you’ll understand what this felt like. You may not realize it at the time, but looking back, you can see how they shifted your world in ways you didn’t think possible.

I was nine years old when I joined the school band. I’d like to say I had these grand aspirations of becoming a musician, but truthfully, I joined because we all had to choose some extracurricular, and band seemed fine. I chose the trumpet because, in my nine-year-old logic, it seemed simple enough. “It only has three buttons,” I thought. “How hard could it be?” Spoiler alert: much harder than I expected.

Band practice wasn’t what I imagined, either. It didn’t take place in a shiny music room with acoustically perfect walls. No, it happened in an old motorhome parked just outside the school. It was cramped, smelled a little musty, and was far from glamorous. But that motorhome? It became my sanctuary.

That space—led by Mr. Shera—was the first place I felt I could just be. He didn’t care if I stumbled over words or mixed things up. He didn’t care that I was a little different. When I mistakenly called my trumpet a flute, he didn’t make me feel small or dumb. He simply corrected me with a kind smile and a high five, like it was no big deal. And in that moment, it wasn’t.

For the first time, I wasn’t the “weird” kid. I was a trumpet player. I was part of the band. And in a band, everyone matters. Every note relies on another. Every rest builds into the silence that lets the next sound shine. It wasn’t about standing out or trying to be perfect. It was about being part of something bigger.

Lessons Beyond Music

Mr. Shera didn’t just teach me music, he taught me to accept myself. My speech challenges didn’t magically disappear, but I got less anxious about them. And I didn’t feel less “weird” but I met kids that were as “weird” as me. Mr. Shera encouraged me to be patient, to practice, to try, and to know that improvement takes time. Band wasn’t competitive like so many other parts of school. It wasn’t about being “the best” or outperforming others. It was about collaboration.

The concept of teamwork wasn’t just a theory; it was the heartbeat of everything we did. Each player depended on the others. If you were off by even a beat, it disrupted the whole group. That meant listening, truly listening to each other, syncing up, and working in harmony. I loved that. For the first time, I felt like I truly belonged somewhere.

What made the biggest impact wasn’t what I learned musically, though. It was how deeply I felt seen. Mr. Shera didn’t look at me through the lens of my challenges. He saw me as someone who could, not just someone who struggled. He acknowledged my quirks, sure, but in a way that made me feel valued, not isolated.

He’d ask about my day, my interests, things that had nothing to do with the trumpet. He didn’t just see a student. He saw me. And that changed everything.

Leadership Means Listening

Now, years later, I think about Mr. Shera often. I think about the kind of leader he was—not because he held some fancy title but because of how he made me and others feel.

The truth is, leadership isn’t just about giving orders or setting expectations. At its core, leadership is about listening and creating an environment where people feel seen, valued, and supported for exactly who they are. It’s about helping others recognize their strengths, even when they can’t see them.

It’s not easy. Too often, leaders—whether they’re bosses, teachers, or even parents—get caught up in the idea of “fixing” people. They focus on what someone lacks or what needs improvement, rather than seeing and celebrating what’s already there.

Have you ever been in a workplace where everyone felt like they had to conform? Where individuality was viewed as a problem to solve rather than an asset? It’s draining. It’s demoralizing. And it stifles the very collaboration and creativity that great teams need.

You can’t innovate, collaborate, or contribute to something great if you can’t show up as yourself.

The Power of Connection

If you’re in any kind of leadership role—be it at work, in your community, or even in your family—ask yourself this: Are you really listening? Are you paying attention to what excites your team or what makes them feel valued? Are you celebrating their uniqueness rather than trying to fit them into a mold?

Small acts of care can go a long way. Just like a smile and a high five from Mr. Shera lightened my world, small moments of recognition can transform someone else’s perspective.

And, if you are not in a leadership role? Well, first off remember you don’t need that fancy title to be a leader. And often those with the title don’t really lead. So take a self-inventory, where do you have influence? Where do you show up? What does leadership look like without the title?

And for everyone remember this, building belonging is a two-way street. It starts with showing up—not with perfection, but with intention.

We must first trust that belonging is possible. It could mean initiating a conversation with someone new, involving yourself in a community event, or even just being open to the idea that you’re worth connecting with. By doing those things – you are leading! While formal leaders have a role to play in fostering connection, belonging can’t simply be handed. It requires effort from everyone.

Whether you’re formally leading or simply navigating your own path, ask yourself this: How are you showing up for others? How are creating connection, offering support, and celebrating differences?

Building Something Bigger

Belonging is about more than just fitting in. It’s about being part of something where your presence matters. Just like in a band, where every musician contributes to the larger sound, we all have a unique role to play in our communities, workplaces, and relationships.

The beauty happens when we stop trying to blend in and start leaning into who we really are—when we collaborate, support each other, and build something bigger than ourselves.

True leadership—and true connection—isn’t about perfection. It’s not about duplicating yourself, or expecting everyone to align to exactly what you want. It’s about finding beauty in each persons individuality, offering compassion, kindness, and encouraging everyone to shine.

Sometimes, all it takes is listening. Sometimes, it’s a smile. And sometimes, as I learned from Mr. Shera, it’s as simple as a high five.