It usually starts with good intentions.
You’re trying to be helpful. Relevant. Adaptable.
Someone asks what you do, and you tailor the answer. Not because you’re unsure, but because you’re trying to connect. You tweak the language slightly. You reference a different outcome. You adjust to the person in front of you, hoping it’ll land.
At first, it feels like smart communication. But over time, the edges start to blur.
The more ways you explain it, the less people remember it.
Early on, this makes sense. You’re still figuring it out. The pattern of who you help, what you solve, and how you work hasn’t fully locked in. You’re gaining experience, trying to get traction. Your language shifts as your understanding evolves.
But later—once you’ve got experience, once the business is stable—the habit doesn’t always go away. It just gets harder to notice. You’re still tailoring the message, but now you’re doing it from a place of capability. You can help these other people. You could deliver a result in that space. The offer is still solid—it’s just not what you originally set out to build.
And that’s where things get risky.
Because the inconsistency no longer comes from confusion. It comes from compromise.
It might be financial. You see a project that’s a little off-niche, but it could cover the next month’s expenses. You say yes. Later, someone in that space asks what you do, and you include that type of work in your answer—just in case.
It might be market feedback. You go out with a clear offer, but the people showing interest aren’t the ones you expected. They’re not wrong—they’re just different. And you think, maybe this is where the demand is. Maybe I should shift.
Or maybe it’s sheer optionality. You’re good at what you do. You’ve solved more than one type of problem. So you keep multiple descriptions on hand—one for this kind of buyer, one for that one, a fallback for the wildcard prospect who doesn’t quite fit your typical client but might still say yes.
The problem is: all of this is understandable. But it’s also unsustainable.
When your message bends to meet the room, it can’t be remembered outside the room.
You become a generalist with no clear claim. A service provider who’s competent, but not category-defining. You start to blend into the middle—not because your work isn’t sharp, but because your position keeps shifting just enough to stay forgettable.
And you feel it.
You feel it in the way people refer to you. Some say you’re the person for X. Others say you do Y. Some can’t really describe it at all—they just say you’re “good at what you do.” That’s flattering, but it’s also vague. And vague doesn’t compound.
I’ve been there—on both ends of it.
Early on, I didn’t know how to describe what I did because I hadn’t done enough of it yet. That was a clarity problem.
Later, I started explaining it differently because I didn’t want to close doors. That was a conviction problem.
There were months when I knew taking on a slightly-off-track project would mean context switching, diluted focus, and confusing signals—but it would also cover rent, pay the team, or take pressure off sales for the next few weeks. So I said yes. And when those kinds of clients asked what I did, I tailored the message to fit.
Not because I was lost—but because I was hedging. And that’s the trap.
You think you’re being smart. But slowly, your message turns into a shape-shifter. It adapts well—but it never leads.
And in a marketplace that rewards sharp edges, soft language is expensive.
The irony is, you can be getting paid well—and still be eroding your brand. You can be busy and profitable, while simultaneously becoming less clear, less referable, and less distinct.
That’s the part most people won’t talk about: the cost of conviction.
Because conviction, at some point, means saying no.
It means walking away from perfectly good opportunities. It means losing money in the short term. It means deciding that you’d rather be known for one thing than tolerated for many.
That decision is uncomfortable. Especially when you’re running a lean operation. Especially when every deal matters. Especially when one off-track client can make your month.
But without that discipline, you never get the depth. You never build the memory. You never generate the kind of demand that comes from being unmistakably associated with a specific problem.
Conviction looks like clarity from the outside. But from the inside, it feels like restraint.
And if you’re not willing to give anything up, you don’t have conviction. You have convenience.
Strong positioning doesn’t act like a net. It works like a filter. It sharpens your voice and narrows your audience, not because you’re limiting your growth—but because you’re designing for longevity.
If your message changes depending on who’s asking, it’s not messaging. It’s avoidance.
Decide what you want to be known for. Say it. Say it again. And keep saying it—especially when it’s inconvenient.
Because the market doesn’t reward those with the most range.
It rewards those with the most resolve.