Earlier this year, I was asked to deliver a talk on networking, and I’ll be honest—I was a bit surprised. Networking isn’t exactly in my comfort zone. But over the years, I’ve developed strategies to feel less awkward when doing it. What I’ve learned is that you can absolutely feel the fear and network anyway. Let me show you how.
Before we get into the practical strategies, I want to share two stories that perfectly illustrate the complexity of networking discomfort.
Many years ago, I tried to take up running. I’d gone for a few jogs on my own and thought I’d try a short race to meet other people. When I arrived, cars were parked all along the road. I didn’t know where to park, didn’t know anyone there, and had never been to a race before. All I could see were loads of people standing around as if they were all the best of friends, chatting and laughing.
The discomfort was overwhelming. I didn't even get out of the car. I just turned around and left.
Not long after, I attended a networking dinner with colleagues. I spotted someone at a table who I really wanted to work with. I walked straight up to him and said, “Hi, I’m Niamh, and I’d like to work in your company.”
He responded positively, agreeing to set up a call. Success, right?
Well, not quite. Although it was the complete opposite of the running race situation, I spent the rest of the evening second-guessing myself. What did he think of me? Was it the right approach? Was he just being polite? These thoughts circled in my head for hours.
These examples demonstrate something important: networking anxiety isn’t about being shy or introverted. I love talking to people. I’ll chat with strangers on trains without hesitation. But something about formal networking situations triggers a different response.
Perhaps it’s the expectation of having a polished elevator pitch ready. Or the pressure to say the right thing at the right moment. Whatever the cause, the anxiety is real—and it’s something many professionals experience, regardless of their role or seniority.
The good news? Networking is fundamentally about building relationships with people. And over the years, I’ve developed an approach that makes these interactions feel more authentic and far less stressful.
This framework is designed specifically for in-person events, which I find most challenging. However, the principles can also be applied to virtual networking.
When I arrive at an event, I resist the urge to dive into conversations right away. Instead, I give myself permission to pause and observe. Sometimes this starts in the car park, but especially at unfamiliar venues, I take a few minutes to simply look around.
I might take my time putting away my coat, walk to the furthest refreshments table, or find a quiet spot to get my bearings. This breathing room removes the pressure to perform immediately.
While it’s easier when I know some attendees or have visited the venue before, I’ve found this approach essential even when everything and everyone is new. Those first few minutes of observation set the tone for a more positive experience.
This might sound unusual, but I deliberately look for something imperfect in the environment. It could be a missing fork on a table, an empty milk jug, someone’s untied shoelace, or a coat hanging precariously off a chair.
Why does this help? These small imperfections remind me that I’m in a human situation with real people—not a picture-perfect movie set where everyone has it all together. When I notice that the milk jug is empty, I think, “I’ve been in situations where the milk jug was empty before. I can handle this."
It’s a simple psychological anchor that grounds me in reality and reduces the intimidation factor.
Next, I look for connections, even before speaking to anyone. While getting refreshments or settling in, I notice commonalities: someone else wearing business casual, another person browsing their phone briefly, or someone who also appears to be attending solo.
I’m not looking for perfect matches—just anything familiar. If I can’t find direct similarities, I’ll think, “That person reminds me of my colleague” or “They have the same energy as my friend.”
This practice creates a sense of belonging before I’ve even started a conversation. At events with speakers or presentations, the shared interest in the topic serves as built-in familiarity, making this step even easier.
When it’s time to initiate conversation, I look for what I call “rainbows”—groups of two or three people standing in a semicircle, with an open, welcoming stance. These configurations signal approachability. I can walk over naturally and simply say hello.
“Clouds,” on the other hand, are closed circles of people who appear deep in private conversation. I used to try joining these groups and invariably felt awkward, never quite sure if I was intruding. Now I stick exclusively to rainbows.
There’s another effective approach: becoming the rainbow yourself. I’ll position myself with an open stance—not buried in my phone—looking around with a natural, approachable expression. Often, I’ll catch the eye of someone else doing exactly the same thing. We’re both looking for someone like us, and suddenly, we’ve found each other.
Once I approach someone or a group, I simply say hello. I don’t plan beyond that initial greeting.
Here’s what I’ve discovered: when I focus on learning about the other person—asking their name, understanding what brought them to the event, and genuinely listening to their responses—the conversation flows naturally. The pressure to have the perfect introduction or elevator pitch dissolves.
Eventually, they’ll ask what I do, and I’ll respond in that moment. But by then, we’re already in a real conversation, not a forced networking exchange.
These principles translate well to online environments, though with some modifications. You still have time to observe the virtual space, notice the familiar (shared interests, common LinkedIn connections, similar professional backgrounds), and approach conversations with genuine curiosity.
Virtual events often use breakout rooms, which naturally create smaller, more intimate networking opportunities. The key remains the same: reminding yourself that you’re simply humans connecting in a shared space, whether physical or digital.
When I first started using this approach, something interesting happened. I became more focused on having a positive experience at the event rather than achieving specific outcomes. I stopped worrying about collecting enough business cards, meeting the “right” people, or determining whether the event was “worth it.”
This shift in perspective has been transformative. Even as I’ve become more confident, prioritising the experience over measurable results continues to serve me well. Ironically, this approach often leads to more meaningful connections than any strategic networking plan ever did.
Networking is a necessary part of professional life—whether you’re building relationships within your organisation, connecting across your industry, or exploring new opportunities. It’s not always comfortable, and that’s okay.
The strategies I’ve shared aren’t about eliminating the nervousness entirely. They’re about creating a framework that acknowledges the discomfort while giving you practical steps to move forward anyway.
If you're someone who finds networking challenging, you're not alone. And if you’re a leader supporting team members who struggle with networking, understanding this internal experience can help you provide more effective guidance and create more inclusive networking opportunities.
The most important insight I can offer is this: authentic connection matters more than polished performance. When you focus on being genuinely interested in others rather than being interesting yourself, networking becomes less about performance and more about building real professional relationships. And that’s something worth feeling the fear for.
If you found these strategies helpful or have your own networking tips to share, I'd love to continue the conversation on LinkedIn. Here’s to making networking a little less daunting for all of us nervous networkers.