The Women Who Make Room

A few weeks ago, I was talking with Elizabeth Elfenbein.

Elizabeth is one of the women I nominated for the Women in Cloud Awards, and I was absolutely thrilled when she won.

I love watching women I believe in get recognized.

Not because women need another trophy.

But because sometimes recognition gives the rest of the world a reason to stop and look at what we already know.

This woman is doing something important.

Pay attention.

I have been thinking about that a lot lately because I am headed to San Francisco on September 12 for Under the Sisterhood’s DocuArt Tour, and the closer I get to the event, the more I find myself thinking about what sisterhood actually means.

It is a word we use all the time.

Sometimes it means friendship.

Sometimes it means mentorship.

Sometimes it means a room full of women who have never met before, somehow talking to one another like they have known each other forever.

And sometimes it is much simpler.

It is the woman who says, “I see you.”

The woman who sends the introduction.

The woman who tells you about the opportunity.

The woman who remembers the thing you said six months ago.

The woman who checks in when you disappear.

The woman who pulls out a chair.

I have spent a lot of my life gathering people.

Bringing someone from one conversation into another.

Connecting the woman who needs something with the woman who can help.

Introducing people who should know each other.

Sometimes those introductions lead to businesses or jobs or partnerships.

Sometimes they lead to friendships.

And sometimes nothing obvious happens at all.

But I have learned that we rarely know, in the moment, which connection is going to matter.

That is part of the magic of community.

We plant seeds without knowing which ones will grow.

My grandparents taught me something about this when I was little.

Their house was a fixed point in a childhood where many things moved.

There was always a place for us at that yellow Formica table.

The lights were on.

Come in.

There is a place for you here.

I think about that table often when I think about leadership.

And I think about it when I think about sisterhood.

Because the best communities I have been part of feel like that.

There is room.

You don't have to prove you deserve the chair before someone pulls it out.

You don't have to be the most successful person in the room.

You don't have to have the biggest title or the biggest following or the most impressive story.

You just have to arrive.

And then, once you are there, I hope you look around and ask:

Who isn't here yet?

That may be one of the most important questions we can ask.

Because sisterhood isn't simply about finding our own seat.

It is about making the table bigger.

I think about the women who have done that for me.

The women who opened doors.

The women who introduced me to someone.

The women who said my name in a room I wasn't in.

The women who encouraged me when I was questioning myself.

The women who told me the truth when I didn't want to hear it.

The women who celebrated me without making my success about themselves.

And the women who simply stayed.

That last one may be the most powerful.

We live in a culture that celebrates the big moment.

The launch.

The award.

The keynote.

The promotion.

The book.

The funding.

The announcement.

But community is built in the much less glamorous spaces.

The text.

The phone call.

The coffee.

The “How are you really?”

The “I saw this and thought of you.”

The “Have you met her?”

The “I'm coming with you.”

The “You don't have to do this alone.”

Consistency creates trust.

And showing up for people is one of the most beautiful forms of consistency I know.

That is one of the reasons I am so excited about Under the Sisterhood.

Their work is rooted in something I believe deeply: women's stories matter. Not just the polished version we put on a stage or a LinkedIn profile, but the lived experience underneath it. The things we have learned. The things we wish someone had told us. The things we survived. The things we are still figuring out.

When women share those stories, something happens.

We recognize ourselves.

We realize we are not the only one.

We discover that the thing we thought was our personal failure may actually be a pattern.

We find language.

We find courage.

We find each other.

And then, if we are paying attention, we turn around and make the road a little easier for the woman coming behind us.

That is the part I love most.

The torch doesn't belong to any one of us.

We carry it for a while.

Then we pass it.

Gloria Steinem understood that.

So did Dorothy Pitman Hughes.

So did my grandmothers.

So do the women I know who quietly spend their lives opening doors for other women.

And I hope I am continually becoming one of them.

I don't want to be the woman who gets to the table and pulls the chair in behind her.

I want to be the woman who says:

Come in.

Sit down.

Tell me your story.

Who do you need to meet?

What are you building?

How can I help?

And then I want to listen.

Because perhaps that is what sisterhood really is.

Not agreement.

Not sameness.

Not pretending everything is fine.

It is choosing not to leave one another alone in the hard parts.

It is celebrating one another in the beautiful parts.

It is telling the truth.

It is sharing what we know.

It is making introductions.

It is opening doors.

It is pulling out chairs.

It is making the table bigger.

I am going to San Francisco on September 12 to spend time with women who understand the power of story, community, and connection.

I suspect I will leave with more stories than I arrived with.

More names in my phone.

More women to cheer for.

More reasons to believe that we are not meant to do this life alone.

And probably a few more people I need to introduce to one another.

I can't wait.

Because the older I get, the more convinced I am that one of the most important things we can do with the time we have is make sure the people around us know:

You are seen.

You are heard.

You belong here.

There is a place for you at the table.

And if there isn't?

We'll build a bigger table.

Have a beautiful day and do something good.

Empathy makes us human; actions make us warriors.

To follow me on my speaking and travel journeys, personal essays on my Heddas Mix Tape Substack, connect with me on Threads, Instagram, LinkedIn, and my Podcast! My Linktree has all kinds of articles, accounts, and offers too: https://linktr.ee/heddamaven

First posted on Maven Musings LinkedIn Newsletter on 9.10.2026