The Jar That Reminds Me Who I Am

There are days when confidence feels like a coat I have left on a train. I can still remember having it, and I know it will turn up again, but in the meantime I am standing in the cold, wondering whether I have somehow misplaced the person who wore it so easily. Work can do that. So can illness, grief, hormonal change, exhaustion or a particularly sharp email arriving before breakfast.

For years, I have kept a jar filled with compliments from colleagues, friends and people I have worked with in television, publishing, events and public speaking. Some are handwritten. Some are printed emails folded into tiny squares. A few are scribbled on the back of production notes or tucked inside old notebooks. None of them is grand or precious in a conventional sense. Together, they have become a quiet record of the good I sometimes cannot see for myself.

The jar does not tell me that every decision I have made was perfect. It does not erase a difficult conversation or turn a low day into a brilliant one. It simply gives me evidence from a time when someone else noticed something kind, capable, brave or useful in me. When my own inner voice becomes unreliable, those messages lend me theirs.

I know this practice may sound a little sentimental, especially in a culture that often rewards the appearance of coping. In Australia, where someone might respond to a hard week with “You’ll be right, mate” and get on with the meeting, there is enormous value in making encouragement tangible. A compliment can be a small thing to offer, yet a powerful thing to keep.

Why Positive Feedback Matters On Difficult Days

Low days tend to narrow our vision. We remember the mistake in the meeting, the awkward line delivered on camera or the application that went nowhere. The praise becomes blurry, while one criticism takes up the whole room. This is a familiar feature of stress: the mind starts collecting evidence for its worst opinion of us.

A jar interrupts that pattern. Reading a note saying, “You made that conversation feel safe,” or “You handled the pressure with such calm,” brings me back to a fuller picture. I am reminded that my identity is larger than the task I mishandled that morning. A difficult moment may be true, but it is never the whole truth.

There is a difference between relying on praise and allowing encouragement to support you. I am not asking colleagues to define my worth. I am keeping a record of how I have contributed, connected and shown up. That distinction matters, particularly for women who have been taught to dismiss positive feedback as politeness or to explain away their own achievements.

Recognition can be especially grounding during periods of change. A new role, a return to work, a health diagnosis or a shift in family life can make us question what we bring to the world. A collection of sincere words becomes a bridge between the person we were and the person we are becoming.

How The Compliment Jar Started

The first notes were never planned as a wellbeing strategy. They appeared after broadcasts, conferences and long days when someone had taken a moment to say something generous. A producer might thank me for holding a difficult interview with care. A colleague might mention that I had made a new person feel welcome. Someone at an event would say that a story I shared had helped them make sense of their own.

For a while, I kept these messages in a drawer. Then the drawer became crowded with cables, old receipts and the mysterious objects every household seems to acquire. I moved the notes into a glass jar because I wanted to see them. The jar sits where I can reach it, rather than being hidden away as though appreciation were something embarrassing.

That physical act has significance. Writing a compliment down slows it down. It stops the words from floating past in the rush of a working day. In broadcasting, there can be a constant movement from one deadline to the next: make-up, rehearsal, live segment, debrief, travel, another briefing. The jar creates a pause inside that pace.

I have also learned to accept the compliment at the time it is given. “Oh, it was nothing” is an easy reflex, especially when we are uncomfortable with attention. Now I try to say thank you without reducing the effort, skill or care that someone has noticed. Receiving well is part of being generous to the person who offered the words.

Turning Workplace Praise Into A Personal Resource

The most helpful messages are specific. “You are amazing” is lovely, yet “You asked the question everyone was nervous to ask” gives me something I can recognise and remember. Specific praise points to a behaviour, a value or a strength. It shows me what I was doing when I was at my best.

When I speak to leaders and teams, I encourage them to be precise with appreciation. Instead of saying “good job”, try “You made space for a quieter voice in that discussion” or “You stayed clear and kind when the plan changed.” This kind of feedback is useful because it tells people what to continue doing. It creates a culture where recognition is part of everyday work rather than an annual performance review ritual.

That approach matters in Australian workplaces, whether the team is gathered in a Sydney boardroom, working remotely from regional New South Wales or catching up over a coffee in Melbourne’s CBD. People often value directness and a bit of humour, but directness does not have to mean emotional distance. A quick “That was a bloody good piece of work” can carry real warmth when it is followed by a clear reason.

I keep the notes that speak to character as much as achievement. One message thanked me for making space for someone who was struggling. Another recognised my persistence during a difficult project. These reminders are precious because they tell me how I want to work, not simply what I managed to finish.

Women, Work And The Need To Be Seen

Women are frequently expected to provide emotional steadiness while receiving little acknowledgement for the labour involved. We support teams, smooth conversations, remember birthdays, mentor younger colleagues and carry concerns home. That work can be essential and invisible at the same time. A compliment jar gives some of it a name.

This is part of why women’s health advocacy is so close to my heart. Wellbeing is shaped by what happens in our bodies, workplaces, relationships and communities. We cannot separate confidence from health, or professional ambition from the conditions that make it possible to keep going.

The Australian context makes this conversation especially important. Many women are balancing paid work with caring responsibilities, long commutes, school calendars and the practical realities of living far from specialist services. Someone working FIFO in Western Australia, managing a small business in Queensland or caring for family in a regional town may have very different pressures from someone in a large office in Canberra. Encouragement cannot solve structural problems, but feeling seen can make it easier to ask for support and set a boundary.

The jar also helps me remember that visibility is not vanity. Being acknowledged for a contribution can strengthen a person’s sense of belonging. When women are told, clearly and sincerely, that their judgement, creativity or leadership has made a difference, they are more likely to trust their voice in the next room.

Leading With Warmth And Confidence

A compliment jar is a personal practice, yet it has a leadership lesson inside it. People do their best work when they understand that their effort is noticed and their humanity is welcome. This does not mean avoiding accountability. It means creating enough trust for people to take responsibility, admit uncertainty and try again.

I have written about how leaders can lead with heart while still taking results seriously. Kindness is not the opposite of standards. A leader can be clear about a deadline, honest about performance and considerate about the person delivering the work. In fact, clarity often lands better when it comes with respect.

When I host an event, I notice the difference a thoughtful word can make backstage. A speaker who has been welcomed properly walks onto the stage differently. A panellist who knows the room is listening becomes more open. A team that has been thanked before the doors open tends to handle the inevitable last-minute change with greater steadiness.

This applies to small businesses and major organisations alike. In Australia’s event and corporate speaking market, people are often moving between in-person conferences, virtual sessions and hybrid gatherings across multiple time zones. The technology matters, yet the human tone matters just as much. A message after a presentation can stay with someone long after the slides have disappeared.

Making Encouragement Part Of Everyday Life

The jar is useful because it is simple. You do not need a retreat, a new notebook system or an hour of quiet before work. You need a container and a willingness to keep the words that arrive. A box, bowl or note on your phone can do the same job. The object matters less than the decision to preserve encouraging evidence.

I sometimes read several notes in a row, but I do not force myself to feel instantly transformed. Some low days require rest, professional support, a walk along the beach or an honest conversation with someone trusted. In Australia, that might mean stepping outside for a lap around the block in a Brisbane afternoon, taking a proper break instead of eating lunch at the desk, or saying “I’m not travelling so well today” to a mate.

It helps to build other reminders around the jar. Keep a record of work you are proud of. Save a kind message from a client. Write down a problem you solved, a boundary you held or a moment when you acted in line with your values. For anyone who appears on camera or speaks publicly, confidence can also be supported by practical preparation, including choices that help you feel comfortable and present; I have shared ideas on how to feel powerful on camera.

The point is not to manufacture relentless positivity. It is to create a more balanced inner archive. When self-doubt tells me I have never been capable, the jar offers a quiet correction. When I forget that connection is one of my strengths, the notes return that knowledge to me. When a low day arrives, I have somewhere to begin.

A compliment from a colleague is a gift, but preserving it is an act of self-respect. The jar reminds me that confidence does not always arrive as a blazing feeling. Sometimes it is a collection of quiet sentences, folded small and waiting patiently for the day I need to read them.