Finding my voice

It's been two weeks since I spoke at GraphQLConf 2025 in Amsterdam, and I'm still processing how different this experience felt. Five years ago, the idea of standing in front of a room full of developers would have sent me running for the nearest exit.

But there I was, on stage, sharing what I've learned about developer experience in the age of AI. And for the first time, it felt natural. Not just manageable or survivable, but genuinely energizing. It's wild how much has changed, not just in the industry, but in me.

The accidental speaker

I never set out to be a public speaker. One day a colleague sent me a request for proposal for GraphQLConf, encouraging me to submit one. This colleague had seen my work as a solo technical writer for a fast-paced startup, developing the company's documentation strategy for their GraphQL API. She recognized something in me that I didn't.

I did the scary thing and said yes. Not because I was ready (spoiler: I had no idea what I was doing), but because I wanted to challenge myself.

And miraculously, my talk was accepted! I had never given a public talk unless you count the one communications class I took in college where I spoke about my love for music. I felt like I was embarking on a journey with a blindfold on, with no idea what to expect.

A few weeks before the conference, I received an email asking if I would like to give a keynote talk on developer experience. I panicked. Not only had I never given a public talk to this degree... EVER... they wanted me to get on the main stage and deliver a talk to the entire conference?

Something in me said... DO IT. So I did. And it was rough. I don't even remember being on stage, and watching it back, I wasn't really happy with my talk. But I did it. And it wasn't as bad as I anticipated.

What a difference a year makes. This time in Amsterdam, I walked off that stage feeling accomplished, not just relieved. My slides flowed smoothly, my examples landed, and I could actually see people nodding along instead of staring blankly into the spotlight trying not to panic. More importantly, I felt like myself up there. Not like someone playing the role of a conference speaker.

The confidence multiplier

Speaking at conferences has done something I didn't expect. It's made me more confident in areas that have nothing to do with public speaking.

There's something about standing up in front of 200 developers and explaining why your approach to API documentation matters that changes you. Not just on stage, but in team meetings. In code reviews. In those moments when you're the only non-engineer in the room and everyone's looking at you to explain why the docs need to be structured differently.

Before speaking, I used to hedge my opinions with "I think maybe we could..." or "I'm not sure if this is right, but..." Now? I lead with conviction. Not arrogance, but the quiet confidence that comes from having tested your ideas in front of people who will call you out if you're wrong.

That first keynote was terrifying, but it taught me something crucial: if I could survive that stage fright and deliver value to an audience of my peers, I could handle any uncomfortable conversation at work. Suddenly, pushing back on a product manager's timeline or advocating for better documentation workflows didn't feel so scary.

The unexpected teacher

Here's what nobody tells you about speaking at developer conferences: you learn more than your audience does.

Every talk forces you to examine your assumptions. When you have to explain why you structure your docs a certain way or why you chose one testing framework over another, you can't rely on "because that's how we've always done it." You have to dig into the why, the tradeoffs, the real reasons behind your decisions.

Preparing for Amsterdam, I've been diving deep into how AI is changing developer workflows. Not just surface-level "AI is everywhere" observations, but the nuanced shifts in how developers consume information. The questions I'm anticipating from the audience have pushed me to research patterns I wouldn't have explored otherwise.

And then there's the feedback loop. After every talk, developers approach with their own experiences, their own challenges, their own solutions. I've learned about tools I'd never heard of, approaches I hadn't considered, and problems I didn't know existed. My speaking has made me a better technical writer because it's exposed me to perspectives beyond my own team and company.

The irony isn't lost on me. I started speaking to share knowledge, but it's become one of my primary ways of acquiring it.

The beauty of giving back

This brings me to why I'm excited about Amsterdam, and really, about speaking in general. It's become my way of giving back to the developer communities that shaped me.

Five years ago, I was that person frantically googling "how to write good API documentation" and reading every blog post I could find. I acquired knowledge as someone desperately trying to level up.

Now I get to be that person for someone else. When I talk about the mistakes I made implementing docs testing, or the time I broke something important, I can see from my audience that I am not alone. That recognition, that "oh thank god, I'm not the only one who struggled with this" moment... that's what keeps me coming back to speaking.

The tech industry can feel isolating sometimes, especially for technical writers. We're often the only person in our role at a company, or on a small team, figuring things out as we go. Speaking creates connections. It builds community. It reminds us that we're part of something bigger than our individual struggles.

The energy shift

Earlier I wrote about how the energy in our industry has shifted from exploration to survival mode. But speaking at conferences and meetups? That's where I still find the exploration energy.

There's something about a room full of people genuinely excited about solving hard problems that cuts through the anxiety and defensiveness that's taken over so much of our industry. When someone approaches me after a talk with "Have you tried this approach?" or "What do you think about this tool?", we're back in exploration mode. We're collaborating, not competing.

The conversations I had at GraphQLConf reminded me why I fell in love with this work in the first place. The problems are hard, the solutions are creative, and the people are genuinely passionate about building better technology. It was infectious.

So infectious, in fact, that I've been inspired to bring some of that energy home. I'm getting more involved in my local developer communities by organizing meetups and reaching out to established communities. There's something magical about building community close to home, where you can have ongoing conversations and see the impact of shared knowledge ripple through your immediate network.

That being said... if you are reading this and interested in a GraphQL Philly meetup group, we are planning our first event!

Finding your voice

If you've been thinking about speaking but haven't taken the leap yet, here's what I wish someone had told me: you don't need to be an expert to have something valuable to share.

My first talk wasn't about groundbreaking research or revolutionary techniques. It was about the practical challenges I'd faced building documentation for a GraphQL API and the solutions I'd cobbled together. It was my experience, my failures, my small wins. And that's exactly what people needed to hear.

The developer community doesn't need another talk about the same well-worn topics from the same well-known speakers. We need fresh perspectives, honest struggles, and real-world solutions from people who are still figuring things out. Your unique combination of experiences, tools, and challenges is valuable precisely because it's yours.

Start small. Local meetups are always looking for speakers, and the bar is lower than you think. That twenty-minute talk about the testing framework you're learning can help someone else who's been putting off the same challenge. The documentation migration you're working through can save someone else months of trial and error.

And here's the secret: every experienced speaker was terrified their first time. The difference isn't that they weren't scared. It's that they did it anyway.

The version of me reflecting on Amsterdam would barely recognize the version of me from five years ago who was afraid to speak up in team meetings. Speaking didn't just give me a platform to share ideas. It gave me a voice, not just on stage, but everywhere.

And now I'm excited to keep exploring that voice! Locally, globally, wherever people are gathered to solve interesting problems together. Because that's what this is really about: finding your people, sharing what you know, and building something better together.

That might be the most valuable thing about this whole journey.