A Thousand Connections and Still Going It Alone
I have over a thousand connections on LinkedIn.
I know what you’re thinking.
A thousand connections should feel like a resource.
A safety net.
A room full of people who could open doors, make introductions, put in a good word.
And yet for most of my career, that room sat quietly behind a screen while I figured things out on my own.
Here’s the strange part:
I’m actually good at networking.
I love meeting people.
I find them genuinely interesting, I ask real questions, I remember things about them.
When I go to a networking event — which I typically dread beforehand and always enjoy once I’m there — I leave with energy, not without it.
Building the network has never been my problem.
Using it is another story entirely.
The References Call
The clearest example of this I can point to happened during one of the harder seasons of my life.
Failed marriage.
Unexpected new chapter as a single mother.
A real and pressing need for income.
I was interviewing for a role and needed references — people who could speak to my work, my character, my capabilities under pressure.
The people I wanted to call were men I’d worked with years before.
Good people.
People I’d respected.
But time had passed, life had moved, and I had that particular anxiety that comes with reaching out to someone after a long silence when you need something.
What if they don’t remember me?
What if I’m just a name from years ago and the ask feels presumptuous?
I made the calls anyway — not bravely, but out of necessity.
And what happened stopped me in my tracks.
They remembered.
Of course they did.
But more than that, the calls themselves became something I hadn’t expected.
We started talking — really talking — about the projects we’d worked on together, the difficult pivots, the sponsors who made our lives complicated, the moments where we’d had each other’s backs.
Memories I had filed away and nearly forgotten.
They hadn’t forgotten any of it.
And when I later heard through the process that my references had been glowing — genuinely, enthusiastically glowing — I realized something important.
They weren’t doing me a favor.
They wanted to see me succeed.
The relationship had been real, the respect had been mutual, and the years in between hadn’t changed any of that.
I had been carrying an imaginary barrier between me and people who were already in my corner.
The Roundtable
Fast forward to today, and I’m still working on this.
I facilitate a roundtable of successful business owners — smart, accomplished people who I’ve built real relationships with over time.
People who know my work.
People who, if I’m being honest, would probably be glad to help me if I asked.
And I haven’t fully asked.
When I sit with why, a familiar image flashes through my mind — just for a split second.
It’s a look.
A moment of recognition in someone’s eyes that says:
I don’t think she’s quite what I thought she was.
A flicker of doubt that deflates everything.
I know, rationally, that this is not what would happen.
I know these people.
I know my own value.
I’ve been doing this work long enough to have the scars and the wins to show for it.
But that split second — that one imagined look — is enough to make me hesitate.
To find a reason to wait.
To tell myself I’m not quite sure enough of what I want yet to make the ask.
Which is true, partly.
But if I’m being completely honest, the uncertainty is also a convenient cover for the fear.
That’s the perfection trap wearing networking clothes.
Waiting until the ask is perfectly formed before making it.
Waiting until I know exactly what outcome I want before I put myself out there.
Which means, some weeks, not putting myself out there at all.
The Infinity Loop
In the women I’ve coached, this habit shows up most painfully in younger professionals — and it tends to lock arms with overvaluing expertise to create what I’ve come to think of as an infinity loop.
You need experience to get opportunity.
You need opportunity to get experience.
And somewhere in that loop, you decide to double down on what you already know rather than reach for what you want — because reaching feels like claiming something you haven’t fully earned yet.
I watched this play out repeatedly in women I mentored at my last company.
Talented, capable women who wanted to stretch into something new, try work outside their lane, see if they had what it took in a different arena.
The desire was there.
The ability was there.
What was missing was the ask.
They wouldn’t go to the partners.
Wouldn’t approach the directors who could have made it happen with one conversation.
Not because they lacked the courage in any permanent way — but because asking felt like admitting they didn’t already have it.
Like showing a gap instead of a strength.
Some of them got lucky.
They were pulled into something new involuntarily — a project that needed someone, a restructure that reshuffled the deck — and discovered they were excellent at things they’d never have volunteered for.
Luck opened the door that asking could have.
But luck is not a strategy.
Why Asking Feels Like Weakness (And Why It Isn't)
Here’s what I’ve come to understand about why women struggle to leverage their networks more than they struggle to build them.
Asking for help feels, to many of us, like revealing a gap.
Like admitting we can’t do it ourselves.
Like handing someone evidence that we’re not as capable as we’ve worked so hard to appear.
For men, in my observation, asking tends to work differently.
It’s a practical transaction.
I need something, you might have it, let’s talk.
There’s no identity wrapped up in the request.
Needing something doesn’t mean being less.
For women — especially women who have had to prove themselves in spaces that weren’t always designed for them — asking can feel like the one crack in the armor that brings everything else into question.
So instead we build.
We collect connections.
Attend events.
Add people to our networks with every intention of staying in touch.
We give generously — making introductions for others, offering help when asked, showing up for people in our orbit.
We are far more comfortable being the resource than needing one.
The giving feels like strength.
The asking feels like vulnerability.
But here’s the reframe I keep coming back to, both for the women I work with and for myself:
The people in your network who matter — the ones who actually know your work — are not waiting to catch you needing something.
They’re waiting for a reason to help you.
Those men on my references call weren’t reluctant.
They were glad.
They wanted to be part of the next chapter.
I had just never given them the chance.
Your One Question
Think about your network right now — not the full list, just the people who actually know your work.
The ones who’ve seen you in action, who’d pick up if you called, who you’d describe as genuinely in your corner.
Now ask yourself this:
When did I last ask one of them for something?
Not a favor.
Not a handout.
Just the thing that’s actually true — an introduction you could use, an insight that would help, a door you’d like opened if they happen to know the person on the other side.
If the answer is “I can’t remember” — that’s not humility.
That’s a habit worth examining.
Because the network you’ve spent years building isn’t a monument to your sociability.
It’s a living resource.
And it works both ways.
Let people who believe in you prove it.
I found How Women Rise early in my coaching career and recognized myself on too many pages. I’ve pressed it into the hands of more women than I can count since then. Now, with some real miles behind me, I’m revisiting a few of those habits — this time with receipts.