I had no business freelance writing for the Wall Street Journal

Keep saying yes, and opportunities will follow

I kept feeling for the badge around my neck, making sure it was still there.

“Maddie Lemay, Wall Street Journal.”

I couldn’t believe it. As a 22-year-old, fresh out of journalism school, I had no business representing one of the nation’s most noteworthy newspapers, covering one of the biggest court hearings at the time.

And I was terrified someone else would figure that out.

My plan was simple: capture the moments most other reporters overlooked. The split-second glances, the unspoken words, the leaning whispers. That’s what helped me land the gig in the first place—I was good at finding the story behind the story.

But when I got there, everything changed.

Dozens of reporters, myself included, were ushered into a side room where a projector flickered to life. Due to COVID restrictions, we weren’t allowed in the actual courtroom.

To make matters worse, the video quality was choppy, and the audio cut in and out like a faulty radio. My heart sank. It felt like being asked to write an essay on a book I’d never read. I couldn’t even quote complete sentences because the video stream was so unreliable.

When the hearing ended, I rushed to the recordkeeper’s desk, desperate for a transcript. But it wouldn’t be ready in time.

My editor called repeatedly, her voice sharp and impatient.

“Where are we at? What do you have?”

“I don’t have a story yet,” I had to admit. “I’m working on it.”

Humiliation washed over me. I felt two feet tall in a sea of seven-foot-tall reporters who seemed to have everything under control.

I fumbled through my notes, trying to piece together something coherent. But when you’re writing for The Wall Street Journal, accuracy isn’t optional. I needed to fact-check, to make sure every word was true.

As the room emptied, a familiar face spotted me.

An older reporter I’d interned with over the summer noticed my flustered state. In a quiet voice, he confirmed the key details I was missing, giving me the confidence to finish the story and send it to my editor.

By then, it didn’t matter. Most other publications had already beaten me to it.

I felt like I blew it.

It took me a while to recover from that failure. For months, I couldn’t shake the embarrassment. But in hindsight, that day taught me lessons I’ll carry for life:

• It’s OK to be the small fish.
• It’s OK to ask for help, even from people you think are your competitors.
• It’s OK to be in rooms you’re not ready for.

When I feel unqualified, I think back to that day—to the badge around my neck and the fog of uncertainty surrounding me.

I figured it out then, and I’ll figure it out now.

Because we owe it to ourselves to show up. To say “yes” when our head and our heart and our bones scream, but you’re not ready.

They’re right. You aren’t.

Proceed with caution, but proceed nonetheless.