Why Faking It Left Me Empty—And How Raw Honesty Changed Everything
Let me tell you a secret: I used to be a professional pretender.
For years, I wore confidence like a cheap suit—ill-fitting, scratchy, and obvious to everyone but me. I’d laugh too loud at jokes I didn’t find funny, nod along to opinions that made my gut twist, and stuff my quirks into a mental closet labeled “Too Weird for Public Consumption.” I wanted so badly to be 'impressive' that I forgot how to be 'human. And you know what it got me? A few hollow accolades, a lot of sleepless nights, and a soul-deep loneliness that no amount of LinkedIn endorsements could fix.
But here’s the thing I’ve learned, often the hard way: "The moment you stop pretending is the moment you start living".
The Facade That Almost Broke Me
Let’s rewind to 2019. I was sitting in a sleek conference room, pitching a client while my stomach churned like a washing machine. I’d spent days rehearsing buzzwords—“synergy,” “disruptive innovation,” “paradigm shift”—and cramming industry reports I barely understood. Halfway through my spiel, the client interrupted: “This all sounds great, but… do you actually 'believe' any of it?”
I froze. I found myself speaking, but my thoughts were completely jumbled. Later, as I numbly scrolled through their “We’ve decided to go another direction” email, it hit me: 'They didn’t reject my work. They rejected my performance.'
I wish I could say that was my wake-up call. Instead, I doubled down. I adapted to every situation, changing my behavior to match the environment. At networking events, I’d mirror accents and hobbies like a desperate actor auditioning for a role. (“You’re into 'competitive cheese rolling? 'Love' that! Me too!”) My relationships felt like transactions. My creativity flatlined. The more I pretended, the emptier I felt on the inside.
I aim to be the realest.
Then, one Tuesday, I cracked.
Mid-Zoom call, my internet died. When I frantically rejoined, my colleague joked, “Whoa, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Instead of my usual canned laugh, I muttered, “Honestly? I’m drowning. My dog’s sick, I haven’t slept in days, and I’m terrified I’m failing all of you.”
Silence. Then, from a usually stoic teammate: “My mom’s in the hospital. I’ve been faking ‘fine’ for weeks.” Another voice: “I still don’t know what I’m doing here.” For the first time in years, we talked like 'people'—not coworkers. That call didn’t fix our problems, but it fixed 'us'.
Why Authenticity Feels Like Walking Naked Into Traffic (And Why It’s Worth It)
Being real isn’t soft. It’s not “woo-woo self-help fluff.” It’s the bravest thing you’ll ever do—because it means facing the fear that’s haunted you since middle school: 'What if they don’t like the real me?'
Here’s the raw truth I’ve clawed my way to: No one connects with perfection. They connect with 'humanity'.
When I started my blog in 2020, I vowed to “be authentic.” Then I spent weeks editing out my stutter, hiding my ADHD tangents, and scrubbing my writing of anything that felt “too much.” The result? Lifeless posts even 'I' didn’t want to read.
The turning point came when I wrote about failing—'really' failing. Not the curated “Here’s how I bounced back!” failure, but the ugly, snotty-cry, ate-a-family-size-bag-of-Cheetos-for-dinner kind. I admitted I didn’t have answers. I rambled. I cursed.
The response? Messages flooded in: “I thought I was the only one.” “Thank you for saying what I’m too scared to.” “This felt like a hug.”
That’s when I realized: "Our broken bits are glue".
How to Ditch the Mask (Without Getting Fired or Friend-Dumped)
Being genuine doesn't mean revealing all your struggles in inappropriate settings. It’s a muscle—one I’ve learned to flex through cringeworthy trial and error. Here’s what works:
1. Replace “Interesting” With “True”
I used to think my value was in being the smartest person in the room. Now? I strive to be as authentic as possible.
- Old me: Nodding sagely when someone mentioned a book I hadn’t read.
- New me: “Wait, 'Sapiens'? I tried reading it twice and fell asleep both times. Got a SparkNotes version?”
Does it make me look dumb? Sometimes. But it also invites others to exhale.
2. Let Your Weird Flag Fly
I’m a 35-year-old man who unironically loves knitting. I cry at dog rescue videos. I still sleep with a ratty childhood blanket named “Bluey.” For years, I hid these things like dirty secrets.
Then, during a team-building exercise, someone asked, “What’s something you’ve never told anyone here?” I blurted, “I knit sweaters for squirrels.” (Long story.) Instead of laughter, a designer whispered, “I have a pet snail named Gary.” A CEO admitted she collects vintage Barbie heads. Our weirdness became our bridge.
3. Practice “Micro-Truths”
There's no need to reveal everything about yourself right away. Start small:
- “I’m nervous about this presentation—any tips?”
- “I’ve got no clue how to respond to that, but I’m listening.”
- “Honestly? Let me take a moment to process this.”
These tiny acts of courage build trust—one crack in the facade at a time.
4. Get Comfortable With Silence
I used to panic when conversations lulled. Now? I let the quiet breathe. Many of my strongest relationships began when:
Them: [Staring at shoes]
Me: “You seem quiet today. Everything okay?”
Them: [Sighs] “My dad’s in hospice.”
You can’t script that. You can only show up.
The Unsexy Truth About Authentic Connection
It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. And it’ll cost you some relationships—ones built on your old persona.
When I stopped people-pleasing, a few “friends” ghosted. When I set boundaries, some colleagues labeled me “difficult.” But the trade-off? Friends who’ve seen me ugly-cry and stayed. Clients who trust me 'because' I admit gaps in my knowledge. A love life that’s less “performance” and more “partner.”
Your Permission Slip
If you remember one thing from all this, let it be: Your existence doesn't need justification.
Your stutter? Your anxiety? Your obsession with medieval basket-weaving TikTok? That’s not noise—it’s your fingerprint. The world has enough polished robots. What it needs is 'you':
- The you who laughs too loud at bad puns
- The you who still hurts from that thing you never talk about
- The you who’s terrified but shows up anyway
So here’s my challenge: Today, in one conversation, tell the truth instead of the “right” thing. Not the trauma—just 'a' truth.
Maybe it’s:
- "I'm struggling, but I'd rather not discuss it right now."
- “I actually hate hiking. Picnic?”
- “I’m lost. Can you help?”
Watch what happens.